


I'll Be Strong For You

by scottmcniceass



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, but with a happy ending?, character illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 16:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcniceass/pseuds/scottmcniceass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Zayn breaks his leg attempting to skateboard over Harry's car, he ends up stuck in the hospital for two weeks. The only thing he doesn't hate about the hospital is the gorgeous volunteer, Liam, who is almost annoyingly sunny and happy. But Liam's got a secret a secret hidden behind his impossibly bright smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Strong For You

**Author's Note:**

> So, I watched A Very Potter Senior Year yesterday, and it put me in a really sad mood, so I wanted to write something sad. With a happy ending, though, because I am a stickler for happy endings, and I am far too weak to go through with unhappy ones.
> 
> Warnings: I obviously have no idea what I'm doing with medical terminology, so everything in here is basically based on stuff i found on google, so a lot of it is probably incredibly inaccurate. Also warnings for Sick! Liam.

 

It was supposed to be a joke. He was drunk -- four shots and two cups of disgustingly warm beer had his head swimming--, and for some reasons Louis’ ideas seem almost reasonable after a bit of vodka. But whatever, Louis’ stupid ideas are not the point. The _point_ is that it was supposed to be a fucking joke. So the fact that he is being rushed to the hospital with a at least one major broken bone (he knows for a fact his knee is fucked, but he _thinks_ his arm might be broken too), while still sort of a bit drink is just kind of fucking bullshit.

Someone touches his leg and Zayn attempts to sit up to tell them to fuck off, except he tries to lean on his left arm, and pain explodes down the whole left side of his body and he can’t do anything but feebly fall back against the stretcher and close his eyes against the wave of nausea that surges over him. He’s not quite sure if that’s from the alcohol, the pain, or both. Probably both, actually.

He wants to blame this on Louis, he really does. Except he kind of can’t, because Louis suggests dumb shit all the time, and it’s not like Zayn had to agree to attempt to skate over Harry’s piece of crap car. That had been his own choice, and therefore it is his fault.

The next ten minutes are a blur of blood and pain and flashing lights. He blacks out at some point, and when he wakes up again he’s in a hospital room, the bed more than uncomfortable underneath him, and his leg and arm are bandaged.

“So you’re awake,” someone says, and Zayn struggles to open his eyes. They feel impossibly heavy, and his head is still swimming. “You’re on quite a lot of pain medication, in case you’re wondering.”

“Oh,” Zayn says softly. Yeah, that makes sense. That would explain the heaviness of his head, and the thickness of his tongue, but also the fact that his body doesn’t really hurt at all, though distantly he knows it probably should.

“Care explaining to me how this happened?” the man asks. Zayn can make out the hospital scrubs, and a crinkly eyed smile that is probably supposed to be welcoming and warming, but it mostly just pisses Zayn off because he hates fake people, and that smile is obviously fake.

“Didn’t Louis or Harry tell you what happened?” Zayn asks. The words sound slurred even to his own foggy mind, but that apparently can’t be helped.

“Yes, they did attempt to,” the doctor says. “But they were both fairly intoxicated and panicked, and the only explanation I got from the two of them was jumbled and shouted at me.”

Zayn would roll his eyes if he could remember how to. “Got drunk. Attempted to skateboard over a car. Failed to skateboard over car. Fell. You know the rest.”

“That I do,” the doctor says, moving across the room. “If you look here--,” Zayn tries to, but he really can’t. “You’ve broken your left knee in several different places, and you’ve also fractured your tibia quite severely, and I’m afraid that nonsurgical healing will most likely not suffice. Oh, and your mother is in the waiting room, and she seems fairly displeased with you.”

“Any chance you could drug me up a bit more before she gets in here?” Zayn asks feebly.

His doctor laughs. “I’ll send her in,” he says. “And I’d get comfortable if I were you, Zayn. You’re going to be here for a while.”

Zayn groans and wishes he were still drunk.

His mum is pissed, to say the least. After the half hour long lecture about him drinking, she spends another ten telling him that Louis Tomlinson is a bad influence (he already knows that, thanks), and then another five discussing his grounding after he leaves the hospital.

“No skateboarding _ever_ again,” his mother says first, and Zayn’s mouth gapes open. “Don’t give me that look, Zayn, if I catch you on a skateboard again you will be grounded until you graduate.”

“That’s _eight months_ ,” Zayn says, appalled. That skateboard is like his car, he needs it to get to school, and home, and the mall, and _everywhere_. She can’t take that away from him.

“Oh, I’m not finished yet,” his mother says, smiling. “On top of that, your old curfew is reinstated. You want to spend your nights drinking and doing childish things? I’ll treat you like a child. You’re in by eight every night, or I call the police and they can bring you home.”

“You’re overreacting,” Zayn tells her.

“You’re in a _hospital bed_ ,” she points out. “You don’t get a say in whether or not I’m overreacting.” Zayn closes his eyes and prays that she changes her mind when she’s thinking more rationally. “And no cellphone for the next two weeks.”

That is the final straw. That is his breaking point. That is the step over the line. “No,” Zayn says. “No, mum, seriously. I’m stuck in here for that amount of time. I’ll go fucking insane in here if I don’t have my phone. Come on, you can’t be serious. Mum, please--,”

“You can beg all you want,” she tells him. “I’m not changing my mind. Not this time. This time you’ve gone too far, and I am _done_ being lenient on you.”

Zayn doesn’t even attempt to argue with her anymore. She’s obviously not changing her mind any time soon, and his mood is already pretty shitty given the circumstances. Fighting with his mum is only going to make it worse. He figures she’ll change her mind anyways, eventually. She’ll see how ridiculous she’s being; his mum is an intelligent, logical woman.

“I’ll leave this here,” she says finally, dropping a bag onto the floor. “This is your clothes, as well as a few of your books to keep you busy. I’ve already spoken to Louis’ mum and he’ll be getting your schoolwork for you, so don’t think that just because you’re hurt you’ll be getting out of any of your work. You’ll have plenty of time to do it here.”

“So you’re just leaving me here, then?” Zayn demands.

“I am,” his mum says. “I’ll see you tomorrow during patient visiting hours. Until then, that’s what you are. Have fun eating cafeteria food, dear. Perhaps that will make you think twice about drunkenly attempting to skateboard over your friend’s car.”

 

\--

 

Zayn hates the hospital. For one, it smells funny. For another, everyone is really, really depressing. No one wants to be in a hospital (except pregnant women, maybe, but then again he took a roll down the maternity ward yesterday and all he could hear was some woman shouting her head off about the creature that was ripping through her vagina, so maybe they’re as unhappy about being here as he is). Either you’re hurt or your sick or even possibly dying, or you’re visiting someone who is hurt, or sick, or possibly dying. Everyone walks through the halls in a sort of rushed slump, head down like they don’t want to make eye contact, unless they’re one of the hospital’s employees, in which case they all walk with too bright smile ands their heads held high (up their asses, he thinks).

On top of hating the hospital, Zayn also has the pleasure of being unable to walk _anywhere_. He wants to go to the bathroom? He’s either got to call someone for help (not happening) or use the wheelchair provided by the hospital. And everyone who works here likes to be up early, so there’s someone who comes in and cleans away his dishes every morning at about six, which is the most satanic time in the morning, in Zayn’s opinion.

So overall he fucking hates everything, except on Thursday he decides that maybe there’s one thing about the hospital that he doesn’t completely, fully hate.

“Morning,” the boy says, hesitantly pushing open his door. “Do you mind if I come in?”

Zayn takes in the light blue shirt he’s wearing, a nametag pinned to it that reads _Hi! I’m a volunteer! My name is:_ **_Liam_**. The Liam part is written in sloppy, thick writing, standing out in black against the white.

_Hello Liam_ , Zayn thinks lewdly. Liam is all kinds of attractive, in Zayn’s opinion. Okay, so maybe Zayn sort of has a type, and Liam fits it completely -- in the looks department, at least. He’s got a buzz cut that makes all his features stand out more. Tanned skin, thick biceps, a jaw line that Clark Kent himself would be jealous of, outlined by a smattering of stubble that is light and just barely noticeable. His shoulders stretch his blue volunteer shirt, and his jeans hang low enough on his hips that Zayn can see the top of his boxers when he turns around to shut the door. And his eyes are a warm, deep brown that Zayn’s itching to draw.

“What are you doing?” Zayn asks anyways, mostly because _seriously_ , what is this guy doing? It’s, like, ten, so it’s not as if he’s bringing Zayn lunch, and his breakfast dishes were cleared out earlier by an older woman with beady eyes.

Liam turns back around to face him, and he tugs at the hem of his shirt sheepishly. “Um, this is going to sound really creepy,” he admits, and fuck if the look on his face isn’t endearingly adorable. “I might have noticed you rolling through the halls the last two days, and I thought you looked interesting, and it’s really boring here, so I thought I’d come introduce myself.”

Zayn’s eyes narrow a bit. “Shouldn’t you be volunteering?”

Liam looks confused for a moment, but then he look down at his nametag and his cheeks turn a light shade of pink. “Right, volunteering.” He blinks at Zayn. “I’m on break?”

“You don’t sound sure,” Zayn says.

“I’m on break,” Liam repeats more firmly. Then he grins. “So what’s your name, anyways? I asked around but everyone around here is sort of extremely unhelpful.”

Zayn considers giving him a fake one, just to fuck with him. Instead he says, “Zayn,” for reasons he can’t quite figure out.

“Zayn,” Liam repeats, like he’s testing the way it feels on his tongue. Zayn sort of wants to test the way Liam’s skin would feel on his tongue, but he has a feeling that if he says as much, Liam’s cheeks will turn even pinker.

Zayn closes the book he was reading and attempts to sit up a bit straighter. He’s aware of how shit he looks right now, mostly because he never expected to meet really hot guys while he was in his _hospital bed_. Louis will have a field day with this, Zayn thinks.

Liam plops himself down on the chair beside the bed, the one his mum and Louis had sat at during their visits. Zayn tried it out himself, but it was lumpy and uncomfortable, so he sticks to the slightly less lumpy and uncomfortable bed.

“I’m Liam, by the way,” Liam says. “In case, you know, this wasn’t enough.” He gestures to his nametag and then gives Zayn another blindingly sweet grin. “So, broken leg, then? That’s why you’re in here?”

“Obviously,” Zayn says, eyes moving to his own cast. There’s a giant, too detailed cock drawn on there from Louis. Louis had grinned while drawing it, and then afterwards he’d said, “It’s an exact replica of Harry’s dick. Look, even the veins are accurate.”

“So how’d it happen?” Liam asks, leaning forward a bit, arms resting on his knees. The movement reveals a tattoo on the back of his forearm of four dark arrows.

“Um.” Zayn licks his dry lips. “A drunken skateboarding accident.”

Liam seems to find this delightful. “Really?” he asks, eyes wide. “What happened?”

And for some reason Zayn ends up going into extreme detail with the retelling of the story, exaggerating his own skateboarding abilities a bit, and then going a bit overboard with the description of the wounds he’d gotten. There really hadn’t been _that_ much blood, but still. Liam’s eyes widen even more, and he winces in sympathy, and Zayn can’t stop himself.

“I’ll probably have a really cool scar, at least,” Zayn finishes. “Not that that really makes any of this any better.”

“I take it you hate it here, then,” Liam guesses.

Zayn nods and shrugs. “It’s not exactly ideal.”

He nods in agreement. “I hate this place,” he admits.

Zayn cocks his head to the side, frowning. “Then why do you volunteer here?”

Liam looks lost and panicked for a moment, and Zayn waits for him to answer. “It’s for school,” he says finally. “I, um, got in some trouble and the only way to stop from getting severely punished was to-- um, agree to volunteer.”

He’s lying. Zayn doesn’t know Liam at all, really, but he can tell. Liam is a shit liar, and he rubs his hands on his jeans while he talks, and his eyes dart nervously between both of Zayn’s, like he’s aware of the fact that Zayn can see right through him.

Zayn takes pity on him. “That must suck,” he says, going along with it. “For how long?”

Liam shrugs. “Who knows,” he says. “But whatever, it’s not that bad. How long are you here for?”

“Two weeks,” Zayn answers. “They’ve got to do surgery on my leg, or something.”

“That’ll be another scar you can use to impress the girls,” Liam points out.

Zayn bites his lip and lowers his eyelashes a bit. “Or the guys,” he says in a lower voice. “What about you, Liam? You got a thing for scars?”

Zayn can see Liam swallowing, sees his Adam’s apple bob while he does it, making the birthmark on his neck look more prominent. “I have to go,” he says suddenly, standing up. “My break’s over, sorry.”

And then he’s practically running from the room, door slamming loudly behind him. Zayn isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or if he wants to take his words back so Liam would have stayed. But a few seconds later the door opens again and Liam asks, “Can I see you tomorrow?”

Zayn shrugs apathetically while his mind screams _yes, God, please_. “Whatever; it’s not like I have anything better to do.”

There’s Liam’s sunny smile again, the one that makes Zayn feel as warm as his brown eyes do, which is just sort of completely ridiculous, really. “Brilliant. See you, Zayn.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything else, but Liam doesn’t seem at all offended. He just waves in an awkward sort of way and then shuts the door behind himself again, this time more carefully.

After he’s gone, Zayn sits there staring at the door for a long time. There is something wrong with him, definitely, because Liam was his type completely, looks wise; but personality wise? No way. Zayn didn’t go for people like that. Zayn preferred cynical humour and confidence and smirks. Not too cheerful smiles and dorky laughs and boys who apparently had no idea just how attractive they were. And yet…

Zayn sighs. He’d be calling Louis right now, if he had his phone. But he doesn’t, and he can’t remember Louis’ number by memory, so he’s just going to have to wait until Louis comes to visit him tomorrow with Harry. Until then, he picks his book up and tries to get back into reading, not thinking about the way the dark ink on Liam’s forearm had looked, or about sucking a mark onto his neck to mirror the one already naturally there.

 

\--

 

He’s in a really irritated mood after lunch the next day. His cast is getting really itchy, and every time he looks at it he thinks about Harry’s dick, which is just extremely uncomfortable. The small television in the room is out of colour a bit, so even though it was really nice of his mum to bring him his DVD player and a few movies, he’s having trouble watching them because he can’t stop focusing on the way the colour is wrong. Oh, and Liam didn’t come by.

He waited in bed from ten until twelve after putting in the effort of trying to lean against the counter and not put any weight on his injury while styling his hair, and it was all for nothing, apparently. Whatever, Zayn really doesn’t care. Liam was sort of annoying anyways.

When someone knocks on his door, he definitely does not perk up. He doesn’t. “Who is it?” Zayn calls.

“It’s, um, Liam? From yesterday? The-- the volunteer?” he calls uncertainly through the door, like he’s afraid Zayn has somehow completely forgotten who he is in the last twenty-four hours.

“Come in,” Zayn says after rolling his eyes to himself.

Liam comes in with a smile on his face and the same volunteer outfit from yesterday, except he’s wearing a pair of khaki cut offs instead of jeans. “I come bearing gifts,” Liam says while kicking closed the door. He holds up a grease stained paper bag. “The food here really sucks, so I figured you wouldn’t say no to a good old, completely horrible for you McDonalds burger.”

Zayn’s mouth is watering (and not just because of the way Liam’s shirt clings to his skin). “I definitely wouldn’t say no,” Zayn agrees. Maybe he should, though, because there’s no way spending time with Liam will be good for his health. He might end up actually smiling or something, and he’d made a pact not to do that until the day his mother revokes her grounding and gives him his phone back.

Just like yesterday, Liam sinks into the chair next to the bed. He digs into the bag in his lap and produces two paper wrapped burgers, one of which he hands to Zayn, the other he places on the bedside table. Then he pulls out two containers of fries and does the same. “I didn’t get drinks,” Liam says apologetically. “Sorry about that.”

Zayn unwraps his burger and then says, “You didn’t have to do any of this, you know.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to,” Liam replies easily while balling up the bag. He crosses the room to throw it in the trash, and then pauses and widens his eyes before turning to Zayn’s shitty little television. “You’re watching Batman?”

Zayn flushes, embarrassed. Louis teases him for it all the time, claims that Zayn is secretly a huge dork. And it’s sort of true, but that’s none of Liam’s business.

“It was the only thing my mum brought that was watchable,” he lies. In all honest he’s watched this movie nine times and counting, and it’s one of his favourites.

“ ‘ _It’s not who I am underneath, but what I_ do, _that defines me_.’” Liam quotes, and his Batman voice is impressively accurate.

“So you’re a fan,” Zayn guesses.

“A bit, yeah,” Liam says while moving back to his chair. “Haven’t gotten a chance to see _The Dark Knight Rises_ yet, unfortunately.”

Zayn takes a bite of his burger. It’s a bit cold, and the cheese isn’t really melted on top of the burger at all, but it’s such an improvement from the hospital food that he almost moans. He eats half of it before says, nonchalantly, “I could get it for us.” Liam blinks at him and he hurries to add, “A friend of mine owns it. He could bring it in for me. It’s not a big deal. I was going to get him to bring it for me anyways, so, whatever.”

Liam’s face lights up and he swallows the bite of his burger quickly. “That’d be great!” he says enthusiastically. “Brilliant. Yeah, we should… yeah. I’d like that.”

“Okay,” Zayn says quietly.

They spend the rest of Liam’s visit in silence, mostly. They eat and watch Batman, with Liam and Zayn both muttering the lines under their breath because they’ve both obviously seen it so many times. Every time they do, Liam gives Zayn a secret sort of smile, one that says a lot more than either of them use their voices to.

Liam cleans up both of their garbage, and he leaves with another awkward wave like he had the day before. Afterwards he puts on another movie and tries to get into it, but it just isn’t the same without Liam sitting there beside him, mouthing along to the dialogue.

 

\--

 

Louis gets there around six, just after dinner. Harry trails in behind him, a grin on his face that sort of reminds Zayn of Liam’s.

“You look nice,” Louis comments while falling into Liam’s-- the visitors chair. “Why did you do your hair?” he asks, looking suspicious. “Are you planning on breaking out of here?”

Zayn snorts. “Be sort of hard, given the circumstances,” Zayn points out, gesturing to his leg. “And I had a visitor, so I thought I should make myself presentable.”

Louis’ eyes narrow as Harry sinks onto the edge of the bed. “You don’t get presentable for _me_ ,” Louis points out. “Last time I was in here you were wearing a wrinkled shirt and you hadn’t showered.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Let it go, Louis.”

“I will not let it go,” Louis argues. “What’s her name? Or his.”

Zayn wonders if Louis would believe it if he lies, but then decides that he probably wouldn’t. Plus, Zayn sort of wants to talk about it, weirdly enough. “His name is Liam,” Zayn answers finally. “He’s a volunteer. An incredibly fucking hot volunteer.”

Louis snorts and gives Zayn an incredulous look. “Leave it to Malik to get laid while in the damn _hospital_.”

“Is this my dick?” Harry asks suddenly, trailing a finger over Zayn’s cast.

“Told you it was incredibly accurate portrayal of his dick,” Louis says happily. “But don’t change the subject, Harry, I want to hear all about Zayn’s hospital lover.”

“It’s not like that,” Zayn says defensively. Why he thought talking about his with Louis would be a good idea, he doesn’t know.

“And why not?” Louis demands.

“Because he’s Mother fucking Teresa, that’s why,” Zayn snaps. “And he’s sort of annoying, honestly. A bit of a do-gooder, you know? And he fucking smiles, like, _all the time_. In fact, I’m fairly certain he’s not even human.”

Harry snorts a laugh and gives Louis a knowing look. “You’re right infatuated with him, aren’t you?” he asks.

Zayn turns to Louis. “You better shut your boyfriend up before I do it for you.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Louis scolds, which is possibly the most hypocritical thing Zayn’s ever heard, because Louis once threatened to murder the girl at the ice cream shop for not putting sprinkles on his ice cream.

“Whatever.” Zayn sits up a bit and runs a hand through his hair. “Do you think you could bring me your Batman movie tonight? I sort of need it for tomorrow.”

“Why?” Louis asks, smirking. “Got a movie date with _Liam_? Oh, God, don’t tell me. He’s a Batman fan, too, isn’t he? You’re in dorky love with him, aren’t you?”

“Fuck off.”

“If you’re rude to me I won’t bring you the movie,” Louis says warningly.

“Fuck off, _please_ ,” Zayn corrects.

Louis grins at him.

 

\--

 

“He’s Robin, you know,” Zayn says, nodding at Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s character on screen.

Liam’s mouth gapes open and he turns to Zayn with a horrified look. He punches Zayn on the arm, too, but not very hard, which is only possible because Liam is on the bed with him today. Zayn didn’t ask him to, but instead of going to the chair he’d just walked around to the other side of the bed and sat himself down beside Zayn, leaning against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him, hands folded in his lap. He’d taken his shoes off first, though, because Liam is far too polite to sit on someone’s bed with his shoes on, obviously.

“Don’t ruin it for me,” Liam says, sounding scandalized.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Not my fault that this movie’s been out since last year and you’re only just seeing it now.” Which makes Zayn suddenly question why. “Why haven’t you seen it before, by the way? You seem like quite a fan.”

Liam shrugs, eyes on the screen. “Didn’t have time. I wanted to see it in theatres, but something came up.”

Zayn grunts his reply and reaches for the can of Pepsi on his side table. He takes a sip and goes to put it back, but Liam takes it from his hand before he can. Zayn watches as Liam takes a sip and then licks his lips afterwards to remove a drop of the liquid. He hands it back to Zayn without a word, and Zayn is pretty dumbfounded.

“She’s evil, isn’t she?” Liam asks, meaning Miranda, the woman Bruce just slept with.

“Didn’t you just tell me not to spoil it for you?” Zayn asks.

Liam groans. “Come on, just tell me if she’s evil. She _looks_ evil. And she’s got an accent. When movies have a mostly American cast, the person with an accent is always the evil one.”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Just tell me.”

“It’ll ruin the whole movie, Liam.”

“Zayn, come on,” Liam whines.

“Okay, fine, she’s evil. Are you happy?”

“ _Zayn_.” Liam gapes at him again. “Why would you tell me that?!”

Zayn gives him a disbelieving look, hands raised defensively. How is Liam even a real person? He’s going to check for batteries or something, because there’s no possible way that he is. He is definitely a robot from planet Sunshine or something.

“You _told_ me to, remember?” Zayn points out.

“You’re horrible to watch movies with,” Liam informs him. “Don’t you know that, when someone asks you for a spoiler, you’re not supposed to give it to them?”

Zayn covers his face with his hand, lest Liam notice the fondly amused look on his face, which Zayn is struggling to control. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Shut up and watch the movie,” Liam tells him.

“Did you just tell me to shut up?” Zayn asks, honestly surprised. Liam doesn’t look like the type of person who tells someone else to shut up.

“Sorry,” Liam says quickly, giving Zayn a deeply apologetic look. There’s the Liam Zayn’s come to know in the last three days. “Could we please watch the movie, though?”

“Yeah, okay,” Zayn agrees.

They don’t end up getting through the whole movie. About three quarters of the way in, someone knocks on his door. Zayn, confused, tells them to come in.

“Liam, dear,” the nurse says, giving them both a gentle smile, “you know you have--,”

“I’ll be right there,” Liam says quickly, jumping off the bed.

The nurse frowns at him and then shakes her head, grin returning. “Okay, we’ll be waiting for you.”

Zayn uses the remote to pause the movie as Liam slips on his shoes. “Sorry,” Liam says again. “I’ve sort of got-- you know, volunteer work. I can’t exactly just slack off the whole time.” A nervous laugh. “We’ll finish this tomorrow?”

Zayn pushes away the annoyed, disappointed feeling inside of him. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Bye, Zayn,” Liam says on his way out.

Zayn frowns at the screen, trying to figure out what Liam’s deal is. There’s something off there, but he can’t quite figure out what it is. He will, though. It’s not like he’s got anything better to do.

Zayn struggles to pull the wheelchair towards him, and then he struggles even more to get himself into it without falling to the ground. He grabs his pack of cigarettes from the bedside drawer and then rolls out of the room after managing (again, he struggles) to get the door open.

The hallway is always weirdly empty. Most of the people on this floor are bedridden, which means that it’s nearly always like this. It makes him uncomfortable, makes him wonder how many of the doors he passes hide someone close to death. He doesn’t like to think about that all that much, though, so he just rolls a little faster down the hall until he gets to the elevators.

He’s got to sign out, even if he’s just going for a smoke and then coming back in. It’s the rules, or something. He thinks it’s stupid, but there’s no way around it. If he tries to roll out the doors without stopping at the reception desk, someone will come running after him to stop him from getting far. He feels like a prisoner.

It’s a bit cold outside, and he makes a mental note to wear a sweater next time he goes out. He lights up his cigarette and takes a deep drag.

He smokes a lot less at the hospital, for several reasons. One, it’s too much effort to get out of bed and then all the way downstairs and outside just to have one. He’s lazy, he can admit that. Second, he feels weirdly guilty about it, because he knows that there are people inside the building that are dying from the very smoke that fills his lungs. And, for some weird reason, he doesn’t want Liam to somehow find out about it, because he has a feeling Liam won’t like it.

Not that he should really give a shit what Liam thinks. Or about Liam in general. Except he sort of does, which irritates him to know end, but also makes him feel warm.

Liam is annoying, he reminds himself. He’s too cheerful. He smiles too much. When he laughs his eyes get all crinkly at the side and his cheeks turn red. He likes Batman. He likes Zayn, even though Zayn is sort of a dick. He’s gorgeous. Fuck, Zayn really is infatuated with him, isn’t he?

When Zayn gets back to his floor, he heads for the receptionist’s desk. The desk is, thankfully, short enough that the woman behind it doesn’t have to stand up to converse with him, which would have done painful things to his pride.

“Can I help you?” she asks, smiling pleasantly.

“I’m, um, looking for someone,” Zayn tells her. “He’s a volunteer. Liam? I just wanted to ask him--,”

“I’m sorry,” the receptionist says, looking genuine. “I’m not allowed to give out information on the volunteers.”

Zayn sighs. “Right, sorry. Thanks anyways.”

He rolls back to his room and gets into bed, but he’s restless. He ends up calling home and asking his mum to bring him his sketchbook and pencil case, and he decides that, if he can’t work Liam out in his head, he will do it on paper.

 

\--

 

Zayn has no idea how one person can be so fucking attractive, yet so completely awkward. Liam is in the chair again today, and they’re still watching Batman. Or, Liam is watching Batman, Zayn is sketching him. He’s sitting on the bed, legs crossed (which was sort of hard, given the stupid fucking cast, but he is nothing if not determined), sketchbook in front of him, facing Liam. Liam, who won’t stop fidgeting and casting Zayn darting looks.

“Will you stop moving?” Zayn demands, pencil held still above the paper. He’s trying to get Liam’s stupidly hot jaw right, but Liam’s making it really difficult.

“Sorry,” Liam says quickly. “I just-- do you have to look at me so intently?”

“Yes,” Zayn says, dropping his eyes to the paper. He brushes his thumb over the line he’d just drawn, smudging it a bit.

“I just--,” Liam cuts himself off and runs a hand over his hair. Zayn pauses the movie for him. “I just don’t see why you’d want to.”

“Several reasons,” Zayn tells him without looking out. “Mostly just ‘cause you’re hot as fuck, though.”

Zayn smirks when he looks up to see a blush in Liam’s cheeks, one that is becoming far too familiar for his liking. Again he fidgets, this time tugging at his volunteer shirt. His nametag is kind of crooked, and Zayn wants to reach out to straighten it, but he doesn’t.

“Can you stop saying things like that, too?” Liam asks.

Zayn swallows, embarrassed, but he asks, sounding cocky and far more confident than he feels, “Why, does it bother you?”

“Yes,” Liam says flatly. “It’s not true, so could you just, like, not?”

“You’re an idiot,” Zayn mutters, exasperated. Or maybe he’s blind, that’s possible. Because there’s no way Liam is not aware of the way he looks. Unless he really is, which just makes Zayn want to hold him down and point out everything he likes about Liam, from the vein in his neck to the way his collarbones curve and the perfectly pink colour of his lips.

When Zayn looks up he sees a wounded look on Liam’s face, and he realizes that he’s made a mistake.

“No, not -- you’re not an idiot, Liam,” Zayn retracts. “Just-- just let me finish and I’ll show you, yeah?”

Liam gives him a look that Zayn doesn’t want to understand. “Okay,” he agrees after a moment.

“Okay.” Zayn repeats Liam and then tries to get back to sketching. “Lift your chin just a bit.”

Liam does as he says, and Zayn finally manages to do his best to capture the line of his jaw, smooth and free of stubble today. He’s not sure if he likes Liam better clean shaven or stubbly. He looks younger like his, and there’s an innocence to his face that is less defined when he’s got the stubble. He decides he likes both equally, and then continues drawing before he can dwell on that.

The movie ends and Liam lets out a happy sound before getting up and falling onto the bed next to Zayn. “Can I see before I go?” he asks, reaching for the notebook.

“No,” Zayn says sharply, pulling the sketchbook away from him. Liam looks taken aback so he adds, “Not until it’s done. There’s no point. It’s just lines and smudges right now.”

Liam sighs but then he grabs Zayn’s hand, flipping it over. His thumb is dark, coated with the remnants of the pencil from all the smudging he’d done. Liam bends Zayn’s fingers and then presses his thumb to the inside of Liam’s wrists. Zayn can feel his pulse beating _once, twice, three times, four_ , and then Liam pulls his hand away and grins at the gray thumbprint left there.

“See you tomorrow,” he says while climbing off the bed.

“Yeah, see you,” Zayn says softly.

The door clicks shut behind him and Zayn collapses back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. For the first time since he’s been here, Zayn is not looking forward to leaving.

 

\--

 

Liam is not there the next day, and Zayn spends most of it brooding, even through his mum’s visit. And he’s sort of pissed off, though he knows that, rationally, he shouldn’t be. Yes, Liam said he’d be there, but it’s not like Liam really owes him anything.

He spends the rest of the night attempting to finish his sketch, but his memory just isn’t working. When he tries to remember the exact shape of Liam’s nose, or the way his eyelashes framed his eyes, all he can think about is the way Liam laughs and how he smells kind of like the hospital, but mostly like cinnamon and sugar, and the fact that he probably tastes like that, too.

The next day he has his surgery, and he is hoping to see Liam beforehand. Liam is not there, though, and even though Zayn rolls through the halls on his floor, and the two below, he doesn’t see him at all. When he gets back to his room he almost balls up the stupid fucking sketch, but instead he turns to a fresh page and ends up scratching in four dark arrows until he nearly rips through the paper.

 

\--

 

He is high. He is floating, drifting, ethereal. He is not Zayn. He is everything. He is the air and the bed and the pain and the dust that wafts through the room, only visible when the light shines on it just right. He is warm and he is cold; he is comfortable, but he is uncomfortable.

He is really, really fucking high. And it’s sort of really fucking awesome. Whatever pain meds they have him on are incredibly potent. He can hear his own laughter, and he looks around the room, almost expecting to see it materialize in the air, there for him to grab and touch because it’s _everywhere_ around him.

“They’ve got you on some good stuff, then?”

Zayn tilts his head, realizing that he’s in his room. He can make out a fuzzy shape in the chair next to him, but if he tries to focus on it his eyes don’t seem to work right. Which is just hilarious, really, so he laughs. “Liam,” he says, because he doesn’t need to see him to know it’s him. “Smells like cinnamon.”

“You didn’t tell me you had your surgery today,” Liam says, and Zayn thinks he’s being scolded. Again he laughs. “You’re very pleasant on drugs, did you know that? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before.”

Zayn grins at him because he has to. It literally hurts his face not to. “You like Batman,” Zayn says for reasons completely unknown to him. “I like that. I like you.”

“I’m going to come back tomorrow,” Liam tells him. “Your mum’s here.”

Zayn tries to sit up, but nope. That’s happening. “Bye, Liam!”

A moment later someone pushes him back down onto the bed. “So who’s Liam?” his mum asks.

“Liam likes Batman,” Zayn says, voice thick and slurred. He is so tired all of a sudden. “I like Liam.”

He closes his eyes, and then he is no longer floating. He is falling, sinking, descending into darkness.

 

\--

 

Zayn is in so much pain the next day, and it puts him in a worse mood than usual. Louis already stopped by and left after Zayn snapped at him repeatedly for talking too loud and for smelling too strongly of cologne. His head hurts, his leg _kills_ , and his ass is cramping from sitting in a weird position, because it’s the only way he _can_ sit unless he wants his leg to feel like it’s being chopped in half by a dull axe. And they won’t give him more pain meds than what he’s already got in his system, but what he’s already got in his system obviously isn’t fucking _working_.

“Should I come back?” Liam asks, startling him.

“Do you ever fucking knock?” Zayn demands of him, raising his eyebrows expectantly when Liam doesn’t answer quick enough.

“Yeah, I’ll definitely come back,” Liam says, pulling the door closed already.

“No-- just-- no, it’s fine,” Zayn sighs. “I’m just cranky. Sorry.”

Liam hesitantly comes into the room, and he, at least, is careful to shut the door softly, unlike Louis who had slammed it behind himself. He sits down in the chair again, and Zayn literally has to bite his tongue to keep from demanding to know why he doesn’t sit on the bed, the way that Zayn wants him to.

“How’re you feeling?” Liam has a sympathetic look on his face, thick eyebrows drawn together in concern.

“Like shit,” Zayn says. “Obviously.”

“Right, sorry.” Liam rubs a hand over his hair, and Zayn wonders how it would feel under his own fingers; would it be bristly and rough, or soft and fuzzy? “Do you want me to put on a movie?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Liam leans forward and licks his lips in a way that is really distracting. “Should I--,”

“Just come lay with me,” Zayn snaps. He winces when he realizes what he’s just said, and quickly adds, “I just want to lie down.”

“Um.” Liam stands up and then does a weird, jerky move towards the bed before stepping back. “You just want me to-- to--,”

“Lie down,” Zayn clarifies. “On the bed.”

“Right.” Liam nods and then kicks off his shoes and walks around to the other side of the bed. He climbs on top and sits rigidly beside Zayn, who scoots down farther so his head is on the pillows. He gestures for Liam to do the same, and after a moment he does.

“You’re not wearing your volunteer shirt today,” Zayn notes. He resists the urge to tug at the offending white material of Liam’s shirt. He _liked_ the blue volunteer shirt. It had become a familiar thing, as much as the smell of cinnamon that’s invading his senses, and the warmth in Liam’s eyes.

Liam’s cheeks turn that pink colour that Zayn likes, and he says, “I’m not volunteering today.”

“So then why are you here?” Zayn wonders. They’re laying facing each other now, not much room between their bodies. Zayn’s leg hurts a bit like this, but there’s no way in hell he’s moving when he can feel the heat radiating from Liam’s body.

“I just wanted to see you,” Liam admits, looking embarrassed. “I came to see you yesterday, after your surgery. You were pretty out of it.”

Zayn’s lips part in surprise because he doesn’t remember that at all. He remembers his mum being there when he woke up, but he has no memory of Liam’s visit _at all_. And he can’t help but wonder if he said anything, if he’d blurted out all of his thoughts when he wasn’t in the right mind to carefully think through each word that comes out of his mouth.

“Did I say anything?” Zayn asks quietly.

Liam shakes his head (which is a bit awkward, given the way his head is laying on Zayn’s pillow). “Not really. Everything you did say wasn’t really understandable, don’t worry.”

_Thank God_. “I wasn’t worrying.”

Liam moves so he’s on his back, hands folded over his stomach. “Can I ask you something?”

Zayn tries to shrug but he can’t. “No one’s stopping you.”

Liam gives him a look that says he doesn’t appreciate Zayn’s attitude. Well too bad for him.

“Are we going to still-- I mean, after you leave, is that the end of this?” He asks the question without looking at Zayn. He is resolutely staring up at the ceiling like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever witnessed.

Zayn hadn’t really thought about it all, if he’s being honest. It’s only been a week, and yet he can’t see a world outside of this room, with Liam to accompany him. And that’s just weird and a bit creepy and more than a little frightening to him, because he should not be feeling something like that for a boy he barely knows.

Zayn turns so he’s on his back, too, and then says to the ceiling, “I don’t want to not see you again.”

Liam chuckles. “If I gave you my number, would you actually call?”

Zayn doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.” He hates himself for it, because he doesn’t _do_ this, especially not with boys like Liam. “Or maybe I’ll just start volunteering. Then we’d see each other all the time.”

It’s a joke, obviously. As soon as he’s out of here, Zayn has no plans to ever return to the hospital unless someone he loves is, like, dying. That is the only way. They’d have to drag him kicking and screaming through the doors under any other circumstances.

And yet Liam yelps out a, “No!” Zayn turns to frown at him, and Liam’s cheeks aren’t pink; they’re red, and his eyes are impossibly wide. “I mean, that’d be silly. We can hang out like normal people, you know.”

“I know,” Zayn says frowning.

Liam turns to him so they’re facing each other again. He boldly reaches out a hand and traces Liam’s tattoo because he likes it, okay? He knows that the skin underneath it will feel the same way as the rest, he has enough tattoos of his own to know this, and yet it’s still weird when it’s not rough under his fingertips. It’s smooth and soft.

“Do you want to, though?” Liam asks, and there’s something vulnerable in his eyes. “See me, that is. You can say no, Zayn. I know that sometimes you barely tolerate me.”

Zayn laughs because, really, Liam? He just doesn’t get it. So he leans forward and brushes his lips against Liam’s full, slightly slick form licking them, ones. Liam makes a surprised sound, and Zayn realizes suddenly that he has no idea if Liam wanted to be kissed. In fact, Liam is completely straight for all Zayn knows. He’s never once said differently.

Zayn is pulling back, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Liam fists a hand in his hair and pulls him back in, a bit too roughly. Zayn doesn’t complain, though. Why the fuck would he? He’s kissing Liam, and Liam’s kissing him back, and he does taste like cinnamon and sugar, or so Zayn learns when he pushes his tongue against the seam of Liam’s mouth.

It doesn’t take Zayn long to figure out that Liam has never properly been kissed, and that more than surprises him because, really, _look at him._  But he’s completely hesitant when Zayn tries to deepen the kiss, lip parting slowly, like he’s not sure what to do, and his tongue doesn’t really move when Zayn brushes his against it, searching for more of that cinnamon taste because Zayn suddenly loves cinnamon. Who knew?

He pulls back, a hand on Liam’s cheek, and searches his eyes. “Just let go, Liam,” he says softly. “Trust me, yeah?”

Liam blinks and then nods, just once. Zayn kisses him again, and this time Liam kisses him back. It’s still obvious that he’s over thinking it, and that he’s worried he’s going to screw up, so Zayn moans into his mouth to let him know that, yeah, he’s definitely enjoying this, Liam, so relax.

Liam returns the moan with a needy sound of his own, one that goes straight to Zayn’s dick. Zayn tells himself to calm the fuck down, because if Liam’s never made out with someone before, he most likely does not want to have sex the first time that he does. Not that Zayn hasn’t thought about it all week. Thought about Liam on top of him, forehead slicked with sweat, holding himself up on those fucking arms of his as he fucks into Zayn, sometimes hard and relentless, sometimes slower and more gently. And he’s thought about fucking Liam, too, watching those eyes widen when he hits that spot inside of him, biting Liam’s shoulder when he comes.

And now he can’t stop thinking about it, so he breaks the kiss before he comes in his pants or attempts to move things along, because he knows that Liam is not ready for that, and he doesn’t want to push him into anything.

“Sorry,” Zayn says softly. There’s a dazed, satisfied look on Liam’s face. “I’ve sort of been wanting to do that since the first day when you walked in.”

“I’m glad you did,” Liam tells him, lips spreading into his smile, warming Zayn to the core.

Zayn can’t help but grin back at him before he groans. “Look what you’ve done to me; I’m smiling.”

“You should do that more often,” Liam tells him. “I like it.”

“I like you,” Zayn admits.

Liam snorts a laugh and says, “I may have lied about you not saying anything yesterday.” Zayn’s eyes widen because no. No. The list of things he could have said is endless and embarrassing at best, horrifying at worst. “ _‘Liam likes Batman. I like Liam.’_ ”

“I didn’t,” Zayn says flatly.

“But you did,” Liam says, a lot more smug than Zayn ever thought possible of him. “It was fairly adorable, in case you were wondering.”

Zayn rolls onto his back. “I’m not adorable. I’m a ball of teenage angst and moodiness.”

Liam shakes his head fondly and sits up. He fixes his shirt and then crosses his legs. “Are you going to finish that sketch?” he questions.

Zayn sits up, too, and reaches for his sketchbook. “I’m going to try,” he answers while flipping it open. “As long as you don’t fidget the entire time like you did before.”

“I’m not making any promises.”

Zayn looks into Liam’s eyes and figures that he’d make a million if Liam asked him to, and that’s terrifying.

 

\--

 

The last few days of his time in the hospital are spent with Liam. Some days he wears the volunteer uniform, but more often than not he wears just normal, casual clothes, letting Zayn know without words that he’s only there to visit with him.

They kiss quite a lot, and they watch every Batman movie that Zayn and Louis own, and Zayn ends up having to get his mum to bring him the Avengers because Liam hasn’t seen it, either, and how hasn’t he seen it? They barely kiss at all through that one, though, so Zayn sort of regrets grabbing it. At the same time, Liam is so into the movie that Zayn can work on his sketch more (which isn’t really a sketch, but is instead an extremely detailed drawing of Liam that is taking much longer than it should because Liam is so uncooperative for someone that is extremely impatient for it to be finished).

Liam doesn’t come say goodbye to him, which makes Zayn’s stomach twist, but he has Liam’s cellphone number written in large writing in his sketchbook, so he tries not to care too much. Plus, it’s probably a good thing. He’s become far too attached to Liam for his own good, and he figures that’s because he had nothing better to do at the hospital than think about Liam or spend time with Liam, there was only _LiamLiamLiam._  Out in the real world things will be different. They will be more normal. He hopes that’s the case, because he’s not sure he can handle the way Liam’s tugged at his heart so quickly.

He has never been more happy to walk out the doors of the hospital, even if his mum is still pissed at him.

“I’ve taken your xbox out of your room,” she tells him as they walk to the car. “And your television has all of the channels blocked. I’ll unlock one every couple of days that you go without breaking any of the new rules.”

Zayn stares at her, mouth open. He closes it with a snap and says, “I broke my leg, I didn’t commit a fucking felony.”

“Language!” his mother snaps. “And maybe next time you’ll think before doing something so completely stupid and reckless, now won’t you?”

Zayn wants to say no just to be difficult, but he resigns himself to just getting in the car. He doesn’t want to get in even more trouble.

The drive home is mostly quiet. Zayn is refusing to accept his mother’s attempts at conversation. He’s happy to just stare out the window and brood, knowing that she’s got a soft spot for him and always has, and hopefully his dejected look will make her reconsider, if he keeps it up long enough.

His younger sisters hug him as soon as he gets to the door, and one of them points to the dick on his cast. His mother gapes at him and then sends him straight to his room with a loud, “You better find a way to cover that up, Zayn, or so help me, you will not see daylight until you’re old enough to move out!” _Fucking Louis_.

He never full appreciated his bed until he’d went so long without it. Now he falls onto it, tugging the blankets up to his face to breathe in the familiar scent and to curl against the softness of his old, worn blanket. He loves his bed so much.

It doesn’t take long for the joyful homecoming to wear off, and as soon as he realizes that she’s taken his laptop, too, Zayn wants to scream. He settles for getting his iPod out of the drawer of his desk, turning up the music loud enough to blare out everything else. Sadly it doesn’t drown out his anger and annoyance, but nothing ever does, really. Except maybe Liam, but that’s pathetic so he’s not going to go there.

 

\--

 

He goes there exactly eighteen hours later. It’s only nine in the morning, and he has no idea why he’s even awake right now, but his internal clock is now set to get up at early hours, even on days when he doesn’t have to. And Liam’s a morning person anyways, so he prays that Liam won’t mind. Or find him creepy.

“Zayn,” Liam says when he answers.

“Hi,” Zayn says awkwardly. In his own room, surrounded by the walls that have been navy blue since he was twelve, with the posters hanging up, with the bookshelf on the left and the desk on the right, and the window by his bed, it’s hard to picture Liam. He just doesn’t fit into Zayn’s world outside of the hospital, and he doesn’t know what to do with that.

“I didn’t expect you to call,” Liam admits quietly. Zayn wonders if he’s lying in bed, phone pressed to his ear. He think so. “I thought maybe you were lying. Maybe not consciously, but, you know….”

“I told you I would,” Zayn reminds him.

“Yeah.” Liam is quiet for a moment before he perks up. “What are you doing on Thursday?”

Zayn grins to himself. “Spending the day with you, obviously. After school, though. I’ve got to go back. I’m not looking forward to going through the halls in these stupid crutches that I’ve got. It took me about ten minutes just to get up my stairs.”

“Crutches are the worst,” Liam sympathises. “Is there any way you could pick me up?”

Zayn wonders if his mum will let him use the car. If it were to go out with his friends, he thinks not. But his mum had actually met Liam (while he was doped up, which he still tries not to think about because that is so embarrassing) and she’s rather fond of him. Thinks he’s a good influence. Maybe she’ll say yes.

“Give me a minute,” Zayn says.

“Mhm.”

Zayn puts the phone down and uses the crutches to get to the door. They hurt his arms, but he’d attempted to walk without them and the tears had welled in his eyes instantly.

“Mum,” he calls from the top of the stairs. He’s not going down them unless he has to, because he has a feeling he’ll be going down them on his ass and not his feet.

His mum appears a moment later, eyebrows raised. “I’m not giving you back your--,”

“I know,” he says dismissively. “I was wondering if I could have the car on Thursday.”

“What part of ‘grounded’ do you not understand?” she asks.

Zayn rolls his eyes because parents are always so difficult. “I want to take Liam out.”

“Liam,” his mum repeats. “The nice boy from the hospital? The volunteer?”

“That’s the one.”

His mother chews this over for a moment before she says, “Fine, but if you’re lying just to get the car and I find out, you’ll regret it.”

“Whatever,” Zayn says. “But thanks.”

His mother grins at him. “I’ll have lunch ready if you want to come down in about two hours. We’re having soup.”

He nods and returns to his room. When he picks up the phone he hears Liam singing softly to himself, and he covers the receiver for a moment, not wanting Liam to know that he’s back. He recognizes the song as Matchbox 20’s _If You’re Gone,_  and Liam has a smooth, pleasant voice.

Eventually he realizes how creepy he’s being so he uncovers the receiver and says, “Hey, I’m back.”

Liam cuts off and coughs. “Sorry, did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Zayn asks, faking innocence.

“Nothing.”

“My mum said I could get the car,” Zayn tells him. “What’s your address?”

“Just pick me up at the hospital,” Liam says. “I’ve got volunteering until seven, so…”

Zayn’s brow furrows at this. That’s a little late for volunteer work, isn’t it? “Okay,” he says anyways. “I’ll see you then.”

“See you, Zayn,” Liam says.

Zayn hangs up and then lays on his back, grinning at the ceiling, thinking that Liam has already done a number on him, knowing that it’s only going to get worse if he doesn’t distance himself from the situation. But he doesn’t really want to do that, so he’s just going to have to live with it.

 

\--

 

“This is adorable,” Louis says from his bed.

Zayn flips him off and adjusts his shirt in the mirror. “Fuck off,” he adds for good measure. “He’s really fit, okay?”

“You’ve fallen hard and fast,” Louis informs him. “It’s pathetic.”

“Do I need to bring up that time you sang under Harry’s window because he wouldn’t talk to you for four days after you insulted his favourite band?” Zayn asks.

Louis flips him off this time. “So when do I get to meet him?” he asks a moment later.

“Never,” Zayn says seriously. “You’re going to stay as far away from him as humanly fucking possible.”

“Rude,” Louis quips. “You’re embarrassed of me.”

“I am,” Zayn agrees.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Don’t wear that shirt, though. Go with the navy one from earlier. That one makes you look like you’re trying too hard.”

Zayn glares at him but changes the button up he’s wearing for the navy one because he’s right. When he’s ready he drives Louis home before heading for the hospital. He can’t deny to himself how nervous he is, which he sort of hates. Zayn is _not_ nervous. He is confident and collected. But he’s never really dated before. He’s had girlfriends and boyfriends, but none of them were really serious, and all they did was hang out with mutual friends and then fuck in each other’s rooms when their parents were out. This is different from that.

Liam is waiting out front, hands buried in the pockets of his jeans. He looks good, Zayn thinks, until Liam gets in the car. Up close he looks exhausted and worn out.

“You okay?” Zayn asks, frowning at him.

Liam grins but it’s not as sunny as usual. “Yeah, I’m just a little tired,” he admits. “Hard day at work. I wasn’t supposed to be doing much, today was supposed to be a lazy day, but some things got pushed around, and I ended up-- it doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

Zayn resists the urge to brush his fingers over the lines of Liam’s face to smooth them out. “So I was thinking we’d do dinner, and then--,”

“Can we--,” Liam cuts him off, looking guilty and apologetic. “I sort of already ate,” he explains. “Could we do something else? I’m really not hungry.”

“Okay,” Zayn agrees, trying not to panic because that’s all he had planned, really. “We’ll go to a movie,” he decides. “Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” Liam says brightly.

“And then afterwards you can come over to mine for a bit,” Zayn offers. “I sort of have to prove to my mum that I’m actually going out with you, and not just making an excuse to get the car and stay out past curfew.”

“Sure.”

“And I can finally finish that sketch,” Zayn adds. “If you’ll actually let me this time.”

“You just like an excuse to stare at me,” Liam says flippantly.

Zayn pulls away from the hospital and says, “I do.”

Liam’s cheeks flush and he looks out the window to hide it.

 

\--

 

So he’s not really sketching. Instead he’s on top of Liam, kissing his lips raw. It’s really not his fault. He was working on Liam’s lips for the sketch, and they’re sort of distracting, and when he licked them Zayn couldn’t help himself. He has no self control where Liam is concerned, apparently.

Liam’s hands are spread wide over his back, barely moving, like he’s not quite sure what’s allowed here and what’s not. Zayn would find that adorable (okay, he still does a bit) if he didn’t desperately want Liam to touch him more.

“Liam,” Zayn says, sitting up a bit. His arm is still sort of damaged, and it hurts a little to put all his weight on it. There’s the added awkwardness of his stupidly cast covered leg, too, but Zayn had worked through that one earlier when he’d first climbed on top of Liam. “You think way too much, mate.”

Liam blinks up at him. His lips are no longer pink, but are instead red and almost puffy, and spit slick in a way that makes Zayn sort of want to lick and bite at them. There’s a flush in his cheeks, too, and a look in his eyes that is far too awed and fond for Zayn to handle.

“Okay,” Liam says quietly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Zayn says quickly. “Just kiss me the way you _want_ to. I’m not stopping you.”

“Okay.” Liam nods and then Zayn leans down to kiss him again.

One of Liam’s hands curl into his hair, tugging just hard enough that Zayn likes it, which his other hand pushes up under Zayn’s shirt, nails scratching against his back. And fuck, maybe he shouldn’t have told Liam to do that, because it’s making it really hard to think past the way Liam’s lips feel and the way his dick is painfully hard.

Zayn lets one of his hands slide down Liam’s ribs over his shirt, and then he finds the hem of the material and pushes it up a bit, groaning at the feeling of warm, smooth skin under his fingertips, spread taught over what Zayn guesses is an impressive amount of muscles.

“Can this come off?” Liam asks a moment later, hand bunching up Zayn’s shirt.

Zayn pulls back so he’s sitting on top of Liam, and then he tugs off his shirt and tosses it to the floor without care. Liam’s eyes widen and Zayn gives him a moment, letting him take in the tattoos that cover his skin. He traces the one on his collarbone, and he asks, “What does it say?”

“I’ll tell you another time,” Zayn promises. He doesn’t really want to think about that one right now.

Without warning, Liam grabs his hips and rolls them over. Zayn winces in pain and tries to hide it because he knows Liam will feel guilty. He’s apparently successful, too, because then he’s got a lapful of Liam, and damn if it isn’t worth it.

“You’ve got so many,” Liam says, eyes moving down Zayn’s skin. He takes time to trace each tattoo, like he wants to memorize them, and Zayn shivers when Liam’s fingers scratch against the heart tattoo on his hip.

“Do you like them?” Zayn finds himself asking. He’s never been all that self conscious. He knows what he looks like, and he’s fine with that. But he knows that some people really _don’t_  like tattoos, and for some reason he’d be really upset if Liam were one of them.

“I love them,” Liam says honestly. He bites his lip and grins around his teeth. “They suit you.”

“I like yours, too,” Zayn admits. “It’s really hot. I’ve got an ink kink, maybe.”

Liam flushes and leans down to kiss him to hide it. Zayn isn’t complaining. He runs his hand over Liam’s hair, fascinated by the way it feels; it’s both bristly and soft, somehow.

Eventually Liam rolls off him so they’re laying beside each other, still kissing, and Zayn is pushing insistently at Liam’s shirt because he wants to feel more of Liam’s skin against his. After a moment Liam sits up and then turns his back on Zayn and tugs it off. Zayn stares at his back for a long moment. Liam is so much bigger than he is. He’s got thick shoulders and a wide waist, and there’s so much muscle everywhere that Zayn is almost feeling inferior, but mostly he’s just really fucking turned on by it.

Liam turns back around, a faint grin on his face. Zayn can’t help it; he pushes Liam down against the bed and then takes him all in. Just as suspected, his stomach is all muscle. His chest is so wide, too, and there’s a smattering of hair there, and then below his bellybutton, leading downwards. Zayn is fairly certain he’s never met anyone more beautiful in his whole life, and that is a very overwhelming thought.

Zayn wants to memorize him, he really does. And one day, after he’s thoroughly shown Liam just how gorgeous he is, he will replicate this on paper so he can have it forever. Until then, he resigns himself to traces every inch of skin with his fingertips, starting with his collarbone, moving down his chest. Liam sucks in a breath when he gets to his stomach, but Zayn keeps going, placing his fingers flat over Liam’s ribs, trying to line them up with the indentations there. He pushes at Liam’s arms, gesturing for him to lift them up so he can keep tracing Liam’s sides, but then Liam is sitting up and tugging his shirt back on.

Zayn doesn’t know what he did wrong, but Liam is just sitting there, back facing him, breathing heavily. His head is ducked down, too, and when Zayn moves to sit beside him he realizes that Liam’s eyes are closed.

“Sorry,” Liam says dejectedly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, no, don’t be,” Zayn says quickly. He wants to rub Liam’s back but he’s not sure if he’s allowed, so he folds his hands in his lap to stop from touching him. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, Liam, honestly.”

“Not for that,” Liam says quietly. He turns to Zayn and gives him a wobbly smile.

“For what, then?” Zayn asks, frowning.

Liam shakes his head and kisses him, long and slow, hands staying far above the waist this time. Zayn’s is on Liam’s shoulder, Liam’s is in his hair. Eventually they break apart and Liam puts his forehead against Zayn’s. “I think it’s getting late,” he says softly.

Zayn nods. “I’ll drive you home.”

Liam lives in a nice neighbourhood in a house that’s smaller than Zayn’s, but looks incredibly homey and comforting anyways. There’s an honest to God white picket fence and flowerbed outside, and Zayn’s not even all that surprised, actually.

He has his fingers gripping the back of Liam’s seat, and Liam’s undoing his seatbelt. He turns to Zayn, hand on the door handle, and he says, “Can we do this again? Or do you want me to just leave you alone?”

Zayn gapes at him. “Why would I want that?”

Liam shrugs. “Because I’m sort of weird.”

“So am I,” Zayn points out. “I like weird.”

Liam rolls his eyes and kisses him chastely. “Call me, then. Whenever you want.”

“Okay,” Zayn says, though he knows he won’t call Liam _whenever_ he wants, because if he does he’ll be on the phone with Liam so often that Liam’s cellphone bill will be incredibly high.

“Later, Zayn,” Liam says when he gets out.

Zayn waits for him to get inside -- he does that awkward wave thing before he closes the door, too, because he’s Liam-- and then drives home. His mum is in the kitchen waiting for him when he gets back, but she’s not giving him trouble. She’s just smiling brightly at him because, apparently, Zayn is not the only Malik that thinks the sun shines out of Liam’s ass. It’s nice to know he’s not alone in this.

 

\--

 

He’s not sure which of them is more nervous right now. Liam looks ready to run, but Zayn is contemplating taking the car and driving to the other side of the country just to avoid this. At the same time he’s really looking forward to it, mostly because it’s been exactly two months, and Zayn is helplessly, completely in love with Liam already, and he figures it’s about time that they hang out with more than just each other.

“It’ll be fine,” Zayn assures him. “Just ignore Louis and talk to Harry. He’s a dick but he’s a sane dick, so he’ll be easier to talk to. Louis, on the other hand… just tune out everything he says. That’s what I do.”

Liam nods while wiping his hands on his jeans. He’s wearing a red jumper with them, and Zayn loves the way the colour looks against his skin. But, then again, there hasn’t been anything about Liam so far that he hasn’t liked (he’s aware of how ridiculous this is, really, he is, but he can’t stop it apparently).

“Niall’s meeting us there,” Liam adds. “So that’ll help.”

Right, there’s the other part Zayn’s nervous about ( though mostly it’s just Liam meeting Louis, because Louis is a complete fucknugget). He prays that Niall isn’t like Liam, because it’s a miracle that Liam even associates with Zayn, really. Boys like Liam don’t have time for boys like Zayn. They’re too sunny and happy and Zayn is the exact opposite. Liam is all smiles and soft laughter and corny jokes, and Zayn is all sharp edges and narrowed eyes and snapped words.

He can’t park too close to the bar because there’s cars lined all along the street. The bar is doing an all ages night while some band that Harry’s a fan of plays. Zayn’s never heard of them but -- not that he’d tell Harry this-- Harry usually has a good taste in music, in Zayn’s opinion. Plus, Liam’s never seen live music before, and Zayn doesn’t get how that’s even possible. As soon as he’d mentioned it, Zayn had promised he’d take him some time.

There are quite a few people out front, most of them smoking or waiting for someone. He spots Louis and Harry, Louis pressed against he wall, hands fisted in Harry’s hair, making quite a scene although neither of them even seem to notice. They are _that_ couple. The one that is annoyingly in your face. If they can be touching, they will. But it’s more than that. If they could be kissing, or rubbing against each other, or pulling off each other’s clothes, they’ll do it.

Zayn releases Liam’s hand as Liam starts waving to someone, and he goes up to Harry and Louis and kicks Louis in the shins. Louis yelps and pushes Harry away, a fire blazing in his eyes when he moves his gaze to Zayn.

“Oh,” he says. “It’s just _you._ ”

“Can you two stop sucking face for, like, five seconds and come meet Liam?” Zayn asks.

“Ooh, Louis, come meet Liam,” Louis mocks. “Oooh, Louis, you should have heard what Liam said the other day. Ooh, Louis, Liam likes Batman and he’s got a really nice smile. Ooh, Louis, I’m getting his face tattooed on my ass, want to see?”

“Fuck off,” Zayn mutters, looking around for Liam, who is a little closer to the doors, chatting with a guy who’s wearing a red snapback and a wide grin.

“So which one is he?” Louis asks, looking around. “Let me guess, don’t tell me.” He points to a guy with several face piercing and a Mohawk. “That one?” Zayn glares at him. “Okay, okay. What about that one?” This guy has jet black hair and is wearing a Nirvana shirt that Zayn has at home in his drawer. When Zayn shakes his head he points to another guy, this one in a leather jacket with the kind of grin that promises things. “Or that one.”

Zayn punches him on the shoulder and says, “Hey, Li, over here.”

Liam comes with Niall in tow, Niall’s hand deep in his pockets. “Wait, _this_ is Liam?” Louis demands, eying him in a way that makes Liam flush. Zayn is going to punch Louis in the fucking face in about three seconds, he swears to--, “But he’s gorgeous.”

Oh. “Yeah, he is,” Zayn agrees.

“And _normal_ looking,” Louis adds, eying Liam sceptically. “Fuck, I’d do him, actually.”

Harry coughs and narrows his eyes a bit. “Nice to meet you, Liam,” he says, mostly because his boyfriend didn’t have the manners to.

“Liam, this is Harry,” Zayn says, gesturing to his friend. “And the asshole is obviously Louis.”

“Hi.” Liam rocks back on his heels and Zayn puts a hand on his back.

“I’m Niall,” the guy in question says, holding out his hand. Harry takes it and then Louis eyes them both with an annoyed look before he offers his hand to Louis, too.

“Should we go in?” Harry asks abruptly.

Zayn nods and they all shuffle into the building. Smoke hangs in the air, as does the smell of alcohol and too much perfume. The lights are soft and dim, giving the whole place an almost serene look, despite the fact that there are people shouting and glasses clinking and music playing in the background.

Harry and Niall have hit it off, apparently, because they’re heading to a booth, an annoyed looking Louis trailing behind them. Zayn still has his hand on Liam, and Liam’s is on his back now, too.

“They seem nice,” Liam offers, and Zayn knows he’s not lying because everyone seems nice to Liam.

“They’re insane,” Zayn tells him. “I’m sort of attached to them, though.”

Liam grins at him for that. Niall is sitting closest to the wall, and Liam slides in after him, Zayn getting the outside seat. Louis and Harry are across from them, Louis’ arm possessively around Harry’s shoulder.

“How long until they start?” Zayn asks Harry.

“Should be any time soon,” Harry says, craning his neck over the back of the seat so he can see the stage. “We should get drinks.”

“I’ll do it,” Zayn offers, grabbing Liam’s hand so he can come with him.

“I’ll come with you,” Niall says quickly. “Li, you stay here. We got it.”

Liam climbs out of the booth to let Niall out, and then he gives Zayn a reassuring grin. Zayn swallows and nods at him, just once, and then he and Niall head to the bar.

Zayn orders four Pepsis (after asking Niall what he wanted) and one bottle of water for Liam. They both sit on one of the stools at the bar while they wait, Zayn’s elbows resting on the bar while Niall turns in his seat.

Niall’s eying him with a heavy look, like he’s trying to figure Zayn out. Finally he says, “You’re alright, then.” Zayn frowns at him and he adds, “But seriously, you fuck with Liam and you’ll regret it. Got it?”

Zayn raises his eyebrows. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

Niall shrugs. “I know, but I had to say it.” He grins. “That’s my best mate, you know, and he-- I don’t like to see him get hurt, so just don’t.”

“Okay,” Zayn says, nodding. “I won’t. I don’t want to see him get hurt, either.”

“Liam has that affect on people,” Niall says while drumming his fingers on the bar. “You just want to take care of him, you know? Even though he’s way more capable of taking care of either of us. And he’d probably get pissed at us for it, too, but you can’t really help it.”

“True enough,” Zayn says, because it is.

He can’t help but look behind him to see how Liam’s doing, and he’s listening raptly as Harry says something, gesturing a lot with his hands. Zayn recognizes the look on his face, and he knows that Liam’s being subjected to one of Harry’s stupid stories. Louis is rolling his eyes, looking about ready to smash his face on the table, but Zayn knows that, deep down, Louis loves everything Harry says. And Liam is so fucking polite, he looks genuinely interested in what Harry’s saying. Harry is probably having a field day with this, because Zayn and Louis never put up with that shit.

When they get back -- Niall balancing two cups, Zayn balancing two as well, Liam’s water bottle tucked into his back pocket--, Liam moves out of the booth so Niall can sit back down, and then Zayn places their drinks on the table and moves back in beside him, arm resting on Liam’s shoulder.

The bar fills up slowly around them, and then suddenly it’s packed. “How popular is this band, exactly?” Zayn asks, frowning at the group that has already converged near the small stage, all looking anxiously at the equipment while waiting for the band to get out and start.

“Pretty popular,” Harry admits.

Liam’s hand is on his thigh until the band comes out. Harry and Louis leave the booth, Harry dragging Louis off into the crowd. “Do you want to go with them?” Zayn asks Liam.

Liam shakes his head. “Can we just watch from here?” he asks.

Zayn nods. “Sure.”

“Let me out first,” Niall says. “This redhead keeps grinning at me. Tenner says I make out with her in the bathroom in twenty minutes.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “You’re disgusting,” he says, but he and Zayn get up so he can move towards the girl in question, who lowers her eyes and grins down at her drink as Niall approaches.

The band is good, actually. They have a loud sound, and the crowd seems to know most of their songs. He can see Harry and Louis near the front of the stage, Harry staring up at the band in awe, Louis staring at Harry in awe.

“This is nice,” Liam whispers against his neck.

Zayn tightens his grip around Liam’s shoulder and looks at him, unable to hold back the grin fighting its way onto his face. “Yeah, it is.”

He ends up driving Niall home. He likes him, actually. He’s not at all what Zayn would have expected from one of Liam’s friends. Niall swears almost as much as Zayn, and his easy smiles are closer to smirks than Liam’s ever are. He and Harry get along really well, too, and Louis warms to him by the end of the night, as soon as he’s positive that Niall is 100% straight and therefore not a threat to his relationship.

“Do you want to come in for a bit?” Liam asks when they get to his house. He flushes a little and adds, “My parents aren’t home until later.”

In the two months that they’ve been dating (not that either of them have actually said anything to make it official, Zayn just thinks that they don’t really have to), he’s never been in Liam’s house. Liam’s been in his so many times. Zayn’s sisters love him, and his mum practically worships Liam’s very being (“He’s such a nice boy, far different from your _other_ friends,” she’d said, though Zayn knows that his mum actually adores Louis no matter how much of a bad influence she thinks he is), and Zayn’s bed smells permanently like cinnamon now.

He parks the car out front and then Liam leads him inside. Liam’s house smells like cookies, which just _figures,_  really. “Are we going up to your room or staying down here?” Zayn asks. He’s whispering, and he can’t figure out why, except it just makes sense, given the darkness of the entire house.

Liam flips on a light and says, “Let’s just watch something in the living room.”

Liam’s sofa is old and comfortable and it sinks in just the right amount. The whole house is pretty much like Liam, from what Zayn’s seen. Warm and comforting. He likes it.

“I’ll get us something to drink and snack on,” Liam says after turning on the television. Zayn watches him go and then gets up.

There are pictures all around the room, most of them of Liam and his sisters (he’s got two, which Zayn learned exactly a month after they met). He pauses in front of one of Liam when he was probably around eight or nine. He’s impossibly thin and his skin is ashen, and Zayn wonders why someone would keep around a picture of their kid while they obviously had the flu or something, but he doesn’t ask when Liam comes back in.

Liam flicks off the light and drops a bag of crisps and two cans of Pepsi onto the coffee table. Zayn settles back onto the sofa, and Liam sits in the middle seat so he can lean into Zayn’s side.

Zayn has no fucking idea what they’re watching. Liam’s hand is on his thigh, and his fingers are steadily moving upwards, so slowly that it’s driving Zayn crazy. When Liam turns off the television it makes the room nearly pitch black.

He feels a hand on his jaw and he turns, lips seeking Liam’s. When he finds them they’re slightly slick and salty from the crisps, but he likes it anyways. Liam kisses him thoroughly, the old hesitance almost completely gone. He’s messing up Zayn’s hair, too, but Zayn knows that Liam likes it better out of the quiff anyways.

Eventually he ends up laying on the couch, Liam straddling him. Liam pulls up, hands flat on Zayn’s chest, and he’s sort of heavy in the best possible way. “Can we try something?” Liam asks.

Zayn wishes he could see his face, but it’s too dark. “Whatever you want, Liam.”

“Okay.” Liam’s hands move down his chest, over his stomach, and then pause for a moment at the waistband of his jeans. And then he palms Zayn through them, and Zayn’s hips jerk up of their own accord because they haven’t gone this far yet, and Zayn’s been desperate for it. He never mentions this to Liam, though, because he’s letting Liam control everything completely so he feels comfortable.

“This okay?” Liam asks quietly.

Zayn nods and licks his lips. “Definitely. More than.”

Liam chuckles and his fingers fumble with the button on Zayn’s jeans. He pulls down the zip, too, and then Zayn shimmies a bit and Liam adjusts his waist so he can pull Zayn jeans off completely.

“Yours too?” Zayn asks.

“Yeah.” Liam gets off him for a moment, and he can hear Liam shuffling out of his pants. When his weight is back on Zayn, it’s without the barrier of both of their jeans, and he can feel how hard Liam is against his hip. It makes a needy sound bubble up in his throat, and he grabs at Liam’s shirt, tugging him down for a kiss.

Liam is panting into his mouth more than kissing him, and Zayn’s grabbing Liam’s ass, pulling them closer together, rutting against him. Liam’s lips slip to his neck, and he bites down softly, licking at the spot afterwards. Zayn shifts a bit until the position is better, and this time when his hips move up he feels them rub against each other just right, nothing but the thin material of their boxers to separate them.

When Zayn’s hands move under the waistband of Liam’s to grip his ass better, Liam lets out a soft, broken, “Please.”

Fuck. Zayn pushes himself up, Liam nearly falling off him. “Just sit up for a minute,” Zayn orders. Liam does as he says, climbing off him completely.

Zayn locates the remote for the television and turns it on, hitting mute. The bluish light struggles to illuminate the room, but it’s more than enough for Zayn. He can see Liam sitting on the couch, legs spread, eyes wide and lip caught between his teeth as he eyes Zayn warily, like he’s expecting Zayn to get dressed and leave.

Zayn groans at him and climbs onto Liam’s lap, hands on the back of the couch to hold himself up. “Tell me what you want,” he says to Liam. He leans down to drag his lips over Liam’s jaw. “I could blow you, if you want.”

Liam’s breath gets ragged and he scratches at Zayn’s back through his shirt. “You don’t-- you don’t have to,” he says.

Zayn snorts and pulls back so Liam can see his grin. “I want to.”

Liam searches his eyes for a moment before he nods furiously. Zayn kisses his lip before getting off him. He grabs Liam’s shoulder and carefully manoeuvres him so he’s laying on the couch the way that Zayn had been. He settles himself between Liam’s legs and then palms him teasingly through his boxers while Liam pushes himself up on his elbows so he can watch what Zayn’s doing.

“I’m good at this, I promise,” Zayn assures him.

Liam’s eyes narrow a bit and he says, “For some reason that doesn’t really reassure me. It just makes me incredibly jealous.”

“Don’t be,” Zayn says, kissing the inside of his thigh. “That was before I met you.” He kisses the other one. “None of that counts. None of them count. Just you.”

Liam’s head falls back against the armrest. “How do I know you won’t be staying those exact words a year from now to someone else?”

Zayn gives Liam a fondly exasperated look while he shakes his head. Liam doesn’t understand at all. There won’t be anyone else. Zayn won’t ever be satisfied with anything less than Liam, but he doesn’t say that because it still freaks him out a hell of a lot.

Instead of over thinking everything the way Liam does, Zayn frees Liam of the confines of his boxers. The sound he makes when Zayn wraps a hand around him is one that he will likely never forget; it’s rough and low and electrifying.

Zayn keeps his eyes on Liam’s as he leans forward to lick at the head, testing the waters. Liam’s eyelids flutter and one of his hands grip the back of the couch while the other grabs Zayn’s shoulder, fingers digging in a bit. Zayn smirks at him before lowering his mouth and wrapping his lips around him.

Liam is biting his lip so hard that Zayn’s mildly impressed at the fact that his teeth haven’t gone right through it. The move doesn’t fully conceal the sounds that he is obviously trying to hold back, because they slip out and fill the otherwise silent room. Zayn’s so fucking hard just from doing this for him, and he can’t help but reach a hand down to grip himself through his boxers, just to relieve the pressure a bit.

He lowers his mouth until Liam’s hitting the back of his throat, and the sound that Liam makes at that has him gripping himself a little tighter, eyes squeezing closed. Liam’s practically vibrating under him, and Zayn can tell that he’s doing everything in his power not to thrust up into Zayn’s mouth. He’s grateful for that.

“Do it,” Liam says breathless. Zayn pulls off him completely, frowning, hand working Liam over while he waits for Liam to elaborate. His words are shaky and his eyes drop to where Zayn very obviously has a hand around himself before he squeezes them closed. “Touch yourself, if you-- I mean-- do it. If you want to. Please.”

Zayn groans because he didn’t think Liam was capable of saying shit like that, and fuck it if that isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Zayn licks the underside of Liam’s cock before pulling him fully into his mouth again, and he pushes down his own boxers enough to wrap a hand around himself.

He’s moaning around Liam now, but he doesn’t even care, because Liam looks lost to the world. His hands are curling feebly around everything he can reach, and his forehead is covered in a sheen of sweat. The only warning Zayn gets before he comes is a helpless moan and a tightening in Liam’s body. He doesn’t get a chance to pull back as Liam comes down his throat. He coughs and struggles to swallow it all while Liam lets out a string of, “Sorry, fuck, Zayn, _fuck._ ”

Liam swearing, he decides, is his favourite thing, and he’s going to do his best to make Liam do it all the time. For now he focuses on pulling off Liam, and he reaches for his drink to wash away the taste because, yeah, he loves Liam, but even _his_ come doesn’t taste pleasant.

When he’s done Liam tucks himself back into his boxers and gives him a look, like he thinks Zayn is the greatest thing in the world. And then he pushes Zayn back onto the couch and straddles his thighs, his hand wrapping around Zayn instantly, a determined look on his face.

There is nothing teasing about the way Liam works him over. Zayn loves it, loves the way that Liam looks on top of him, loves the way his wide hand feels wrapped around him, and the way that Liam looks at him. His head hits the armrest of the couch painfully when he comes, eyes falling closed, Liam’s name on his lips. Liam strokes him through it until it’s too much, and then he stops.

Liam is searching for something to clean his hand off with when Zayn grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss. He makes a surprised sound but kisses Zayn back, letting him control the way the kiss goes, and he keeps it soft and chaste and warm.

“I love you,” Zayn mumbles against Liam’s lips.

Liam pulls away from him abruptly; Zayn doesn’t think he’s ever felt so cold in Liam’s presence. Liam is frantically grabbing their clothes off the ground, and he throws Zayn’s jeans at him. They hit his chest and fall into his lap while Liam says, “You need to leave.”

Zayn gawks at him, mind whirling. “What? Liam--,”

“Please leave,” Liam says, much quieter. “Zayn, just go. I-- please--,”

“Okay,” Zayn snaps, tugging on his jeans. His fingers fumble over the buttons and he feels like crying, which is just fucking stupid because Zayn does _not_ cry. “I’m fucking going.”

Liam isn’t even facing him when he’s done. He’s leaning on the shelf that holds a few books, movies, and other nicknacks. His back is tensed and he won’t even fucking _look_ at Zayn. That’s what hurts the most. Not the lack of explanation or warning; he can’t even face Zayn, and that twists his gut and makes him want to throw things and yell and sob, all at the same time. Instead he heads for the door. He doesn’t even bother putting on his shoes -- it takes too much effort, so instead he just grabs them and practically runs from Liam’s nice house that suddenly seems foreign and cold.

His fingers can’t seem to work as he tries to jam the key into the ignition, and Zayn has to stop for a moment and clear his mind. He leans his head down onto the steering wheel, fingers still curled around it, and tries to _think._  What did he do wrong? He thought they’ve been working up to that for months now, really. He thought Liam felt the same way. He was so _sure._  But god, of course he doesn’t. Zayn is an idiot, obviously, and Liam is probably just as aware as he is that he’s far too good to give something like his heart to someone like Zayn.

He has no idea how he gets home. The ride passes in a blur of lights and street names passing by too quickly. His mum is waiting for him, and she comes into the hallway as soon as he drops his shoes on the floor.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” she demands, hand on her hip.

“No,” Zayn admits.

“It’s _one_ in the _morning_. No warning, no call. I’ve been worried _sick._  No more car for you. No more going out, no--,”

“Okay,” Zayn says quietly. He shoulders past her and climbs the stairs, not capable of doing this right now.

“Zayn!” his mother shouts. “Don’t you walk away from me when I’m--,” He shuts his door to drown her out.

He falls into bed, too tired to stay up any later. He pulls his blankets in around himself, like a cocoon or barricade, like they could somehow protect him from the way his heart feels like shattering. They can’t, and they smell like cinnamon anyways.

 

\--

 

Zayn is weak. It takes him only three days before he caves and calls Liam. He doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t call back, either. Zayn tries again. And again, until he realizes how fucking pathetic he’s being. After that he stops trying to talk to Liam and he starts trying to forget him.

Except he can’t because Liam is everywhere. And he finds himself sitting at his desk constantly, pencil poised over the sketch of Liam. And he finishes it, finally, by memory this time. He gets the eyes right, fixes the eyebrows, somehow manages to capture Liam’s lovely jaw and the birthmark on his neck and the crinkles by his eyes.

Louis is concerned. He’s probably rightfully concerned, too, because there is something detrimentally wrong with him. Teenage relationships aren’t supposed to feel like this. Of course he’s supposed to feel like the world ends at first, but he’s supposed to get over it. But Zayn is _not_ getting over it. Louis thinks this is because he doesn’t have closure, that it’s because things ended so abruptly and without warning, and therefore Zayn needs to figure out why before he can, as Louis puts it, “Start healing and get back out there.”

The thing is, Zayn knows this isn’t it. It has nothing to do with being confused (which he is, though that’s not the point). It has everything to do with _Liam._  If it were anyone else, Zayn thinks it would be different.

He’s shading in the tops of Liam’s shoulder -- the only part of his body in the sketch, other than his head and neck-- when someone knocks on the door downstairs. Zayn is home alone today, his dad still at work, his mum taking the girls out to do shopping. He sighs and wonders if they’ll leave if he ignores it for long enough, but the knocking continues, only louder and more insistent.

Zayn groans and pushes away from his desk, heading for the stairs. The knocking continues and he can’t help but snap, “I’m _coming._ ”

It stops abruptly and Zayn rolls his eyes as he reaches the door, fingers curling around the knob. He pulls it open, expecting Louis (because who else could it be, really?), but that’s not who he finds on the other side of the door. It’s definitely _not_ Louis. It’s Liam, and he looks -- he doesn’t look good, not at all the way he is in Zayn’s memory. It’s been two weeks and yet he looks thinner, and his skin isn’t so much sun kissed as it is ashen and pale. There are bags under his eyes, too, and his lips and chewed to shit.

“Hi,” Liam says quietly.

Zayn slams the door in his face. His heart is hammering in his chest, and this isn’t _fair._  Why is he _here?_

He can’t hold himself up, so he leans against the door and slides to the floor, pulling his legs up to his chest. He buries his head in his hand and curses Liam’s name silently, over and over, wanting to hate him and failing miserably.

“Zayn,” Liam says quietly. “I know you’re there.”

“Fuck off, Liam,” Zayn hisses, banging his head on the door. “Just go the fuck away. I don’t even know why you’re here right now.”

“I need to talk to you.” His voice breaks and Zayn wonders if he’s crying. He sincerely hopes that he is, the asshole. “Please. Just give me five minutes to explain. That’s all I’m asking. I don’t want you to forgive me, I just want you to understand.”

“Fuck it,” Zayn mutters, pushing himself up. He pulls open the door and then says, “You have exactly five minutes, and then I want you back out of my life, Liam.”

“Okay,” Liam says softly, nodding.

Zayn doesn’t wait for him to come in or take his shoes off. He just stomps up the stairs, throws open his door, and collapses into the chair at his desk. A moment later Liam comes in and perches at the end of his bed, head ducked, hands folded neatly in his lap. Zayn notes the way his shirt seems to hang off him, too big for his body, which isn’t right because he knows that shirt, recognizes it, and it should be stretched tight around Liam’s wide shoulders.

“I guess I should start at the beginning, then,” Liam says, looking up at him.

Zayn crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes. It’s not fair, the way that it physically makes him sick to look at Liam because it _hurts._ It hurts so much and he doesn’t want this at all. He didn’t ask for this. He should have told Liam to get the fuck out that first day. He knew Liam was going to destroy him, and he’s done a pretty good job of it.

“I lied,” Liam says suddenly, eyebrows drawn together. He’s not meeting Zayn’s eyes. Instead he’s focusing on the wall a bit behind his head. “Since that first day, I’ve been lying to you. I don’t volunteer at the hospital. That was an excuse.”

Zayn wasn’t expecting that. He uncrosses his arms and grips the chair tightly. “What do you mean you don’t volunteer at the hospital? What the fuck were you doing there, then? Are you a stalker?”

“No,” Liam snaps. “I’m _sick,_  Zayn. Fuck. I’m a _patient,_ okay? I didn’t want you to know because you’d look at me differently. Everyone always does! But God, I remember seeing you in the halls and thinking you were the brightest person I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I had to know you. So I borrowed one of the volunteer uniforms and got a nametag for myself, and none of the nurses cared because they all like me quite a lot.”

Zayn cocks his head to the side, not following. “What do you mean you-- what?”

Liam’s face hardens and he leans back on his palms, levelling Zayn with an annoyed look that does little to cover up the hurt in his eyes. “You’re not stupid, Zayn. Go on, say it.”

“You’re sick,” Zayn repeats, the room suddenly far too cold. He shivers. “Like, the flu or something.”

Liam gives him a not amused look. “Do you spend weeks in the hospital because of the flu, Zayn?”

“No,” Zayn says quietly. He rubs a hand over his mouth and then leans on his elbows and licks his lips. “So what’s wrong with you, then?” He racks his brain for something that could possibly make sense, but he can’t find anything.

“I have lymphoma,” Liam says, chin tilted almost defiantly.

“I don’t know what that is,” Zayn tells him.

“It’s a type of cancer that--,”

“No,” Zayn says, standing up. “No. Liam, don’t fuck with me, come on. This isn’t funny. _Stop._ ”

“I’m not _playing around,_ Zayn.” Liam looks both angry and hurt, like Zayn is the one who’s doing this, not him.

“You don’t have _cancer,_ ” Zayn states, because if he says it then it must be true. “You don’t even look sick!”

Okay, he does _today,_  but he didn’t _before._  He-- he’s _healthy._ He can’t have _cancer._ That doesn’t even make _sense._ This is the sickest joke anyone has ever played on him.

“I didn’t,” Liam admits. “I was just starting chemo when I met you, so I still looked fairly healthy. It takes it’s toll, obviously.”

“You’re fucked, Liam,” Zayn tells him. He pulls open his bedroom door. “Get out.”

“Zayn--,”

“I said get the fuck out!” Zayn shouts. “Get out of my fucking house!”

Liam tries to touch him on the way to the door, but Zayn steps away from him, out of reach. He can see the tears brimming Liam’s eyes, but they don’t fall. When he’s out the door Zayn slams it closed, and he waits to hear the front door open, and then close behind him. When it does Zayn’s back hits the wall and he falls down it, much like he had at the door, only now he puts his arms around his legs to keep himself from falling apart, because that’s how he feels. Like he’s breaking, piece by piece, and he can’t keep it together.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, but his parents come home and the sounds of his sisters running through the house, and his mum starting dinner reach his ears. Logically he thinks he should get up, but he can’t. His mum calls his name for dinner and he’s still just sitting there on the floor, head resting on his knees, unmoving.

Eventually his mum knocks on his door, and when he still doesn’t answer she pushes it open. When she finds him she lets out a surprised sound and then calls his name again, softer. Zayn can’t answer. He can’t look up at her. He can’t _think._ It’s all just too much. His head is whirling because he knows, he _knows_ that Liam wasn’t lying. He was telling the truth. He wishes Liam never told him. He wishes Liam never explained. He wishes that Liam had just continued to ignore him. It was better than this. Anything is better than this.

“Zayn,” his mother says quietly. She kneels down on the floor in front of him and brushes a hand through his hair. “You’re crying.”

He is. He didn’t even notice until now, but there are tears falling from his eyes, soaking the knees of his jeans. He doesn’t move to wipe them away.

“Zayn,” she tries again. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Zayn!” Now she’s yelling, but he can’t do anything to consol her because he can’t _move._ She calls his fathers name, and then they’re both saying his name, over an over, but he just sits there until he hears his mum pick up the phone.

They both leave the room. Twenty minutes later Louis is there, brushing a hand through his hair, wiping away his tears. He forces Zayn to look up at him, and he uncurls Zayn’s arms from around his legs. He shouldn’t have done that, because now Zayn can’t hold himself together, and he falls apart completely. He sobs and grabs at Louis like he’s the only thing in the world because, at that moment, he sort of is.

He can’t breath and his head feels heavy, and all he can thinks is _Liam is sick._ That’s all that goes through his mind and it doesn’t make sense but it does at the same time, and it’s not _fair._ It’s not _right,_ because Liam is the greatest person Zayn has ever met. He is sunshine and laughter and optimism. He is every single good thing Zayn can think of, like birthday cake and sitting in the sand at the beach and his mum singing to him and playing football with Louis and a cold glass of water on a hot day. And now he’s tainted. The one good thing in the entire world and now it’s ruined.

“Babe,” Louis says softly, hand rubbing circles onto Zayn’s back. “Does this have to do with Liam?”

Zayn chokes out a laugh that makes him sound like he’s dying. But he’s not, is he? Liam is. “He’s sick, Lou,” Zayn says into Louis’ shoulder. “He lied to me. He wasn’t--,” Zayn swallows thickly. “He wasn’t a fucking volunteer. He’s got _cancer._ ”

Louis pushes on his shoulders and gapes at him, shaking his head. Zayn laughs again even though he’s still steadily crying in a way that he hasn’t since he was, like, seven, for fuck sake. “No,” Louis says quietly. “Zayn--,”

“Just leave me alone, Louis,” Zayn says quietly. “I just want everyone to leave me alone, okay?”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Louis tells him. “It’s-- it’ll be fine. Okay. It’ll be fine. I’m sure he’s-- I’m sure he’s fine. _Fuck._ Liam’s healthier than either of us, are you sure--,”

“Positive,” Zayn says darkly. “I’m fucking positive. If you’re going to talk about it, get the fuck out.”

“Zayn, you have to talk about it--,”

“I really, really don’t,” Zayn tells him, pushing him away. He remembers how to move again and he gets up, taking long strides away from Louis. “I wish he never told me. I wish-- I wish I never met him.”

“That’s not true,” Louis says carefully.

“It is, though,” Zayn says. He grins despite the fact that his cheeks are still wet with tears. “It fucking is, Louis. I wish more than anything that I’d never met him. He’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“ _Zayn,_ ” Louis snaps.

“Just leave me alone,” Zayn begs, falling onto his bed. “Just-- everyone needs to just leave me alone.”

The thing is, he does. He leaves Zayn, shutting the door behind himself. But he obviously goes and tells Zayn’s mum, because ten minutes later she comes into the room with a cup of tea and a look on her face that says she’s aching for him. He doesn’t want that. He wants them all to leave him _alone._

“Louis told me,” she says, sinking onto his bed.

Zayn has the blankets curled around himself and he doesn’t plan to leave them ever again. He doesn’t plan on leaving this bed ever again. He will stay here forever, wrapped in his blankets, avoiding the world because it’s too much for him. He’s not strong enough to deal with anything anymore.

“I need my laptop,” Zayn tells her as she hands him a cup of tea that’s too hot. It burns his tongue when he drinks it, but he doesn’t stop because he realizes he’s cold. He’s so, so cold, and it almost hurts.

“Okay,” his mum agrees. “I’ll get it right now.”

Zayn nods and tucks his blanket back under his chin as he drinks. He can’t taste the tea at all. It might as well be scalding hot water for all he notices, and it does little to warm him.

When she comes back his laptop is under her arm. She places it on the bed and says, “If you need anything, just call.”

The only thing he needs right now is Liam, but he also needs to never see Liam again, so he doesn’t mention it. He just grunts and puts the cup on the side table so he can pull open Google. He spells it wrong the first time, but by the third try he finds what he’s looking for. He’s not stupid, but the medical terms are still fairly confusing for him. What he learns is simple: lymphoma is a type of blood cancer that causes tumours. It’s apparently very treatable, through chemotherapy, or radiation therapy, or bone marrow transplants, depending on the case. It makes the lymph nodes swell, while also causing weight loss in certain cases (which Zayn had noticed about Liam today) and a lack of appetite (he’s only seen Liam eat a handful of times, and he always declines when Zayn wants to take him out for dinner).

Zayn stops reading after that because he has to. He can’t keep reading the words that barely make any sense to him, because in the end they still only mean one thing, and that is that Liam is sick.

He shoves the laptop away from him and grabs the phone. His fingers hover over the first digit of Liam’s number, but he doesn’t press it. Instead he dials another, equally familiar number, and waits until Harry picks up. “Zayn!” he says brightly, and he knows immediately that Louis has already spoken to him, too. It’s too cheerful and bright, and he can tell that it’s put on. “How are you?”

“I need Niall’s number,” Zayn says, ignoring him.

Harry hesitates for a moment. “Don’t you think you should call Liam instead?”

“No.”

“Zayn--,”

“ _No._ ”

Harry sighs and reads off a number. “Smarten the fuck up though, Malik. He deserves to hear from you, no matter how upset you are.”

Zayn hangs up on him and then calls the number Harry gave. Niall picks up on the third ring with a short, “Who is this?”

Zayn coughs awkwardly and says, “It’s -- um, Zayn.”

“Who is it?” He hears Liam ask in the background, and he nearly hangs up. He’s not _that_ much of a coward, though.

“It’s just my mum,” Niall says quickly. “Give me a minute.”

Niall covers the receiver but he still hears a door open and close, and then shuffling as Niall brings the phone back to his ear.

“What the fuck do you want?” Niall demands. “And what the fuck did you do to him? He won’t tell me, but he’s been--,”

“How sick is he?” Zayn asks.

Niall cuts off with a surprised sound, and Zayn swears he nearly drops the phone. “So he told you,” he says after a minute or so.

“I figured you knew,” Zayn says quietly, dropping his eyes to his freehand, which is fisted in the sheet. He focuses on uncurling the fingers, one by one, and they’re red from holding on too tightly.

“Of course I knew,” Niall snaps. “That’s my best mate. I was here the first time, and I’ll be here-- I’ll be here after this time.”

Zayn refuses to cry again. “So this isn’t the first time he’s been sick, then.”

“Not my place,” Niall tells him. “You want answers, you get them from him. And you better fucking call him, because Harry’ll tell me where you live, and I’ll make sure you regret it if you don’t. He deserves that much, at least. I don’t know _what_  you did, but he’s a mess.”

“So am I,” Zayn admits before hanging up.

 

\--

 

He doesn’t go to school the next day. In fact, he doesn’t leave his bed for a total of two days, except to go to the bathroom. His mum forces him to eat, but she doesn’t get that the thought of food twists his stomach and makes him want to retch.

On the third day he realizes how much of a pathetic asshole he’s being, and he gets out of bed and showers. He’s overreacting, he thinks. He’s blowing things out of proportion. Things will be fine, obviously. And he needs to go to Liam and apologize.

After his shower he dresses quick, doesn’t even bother with his hair, and then grabs his sketch off the desk before he heads out the door. He doesn’t borrow the car, but instead opts to just walk. It’s not a short walk, either, but the cold air and the time alone gives him a chance to think and just _breathe._

He smokes three cigarettes on the way to Laim’s, one after another, and he’s aware that it’s a bit excessive, but he can’t help it. The fact that he smokes a pack every two days and is completely healthy isn’t fair, when Liam’s never smoked once in his life and look what’s happened to him. If either of them deserved something like this, it would be Zayn, not him. Never Liam.

It’s as he walks up to Liam’s door that he realizes his parents are home. Their car is in the driveway, and he’s going to have to meet them. The thought makes him almost turn around and head back home, but he has to suck this up because Liam would do it for him, so he will do it for Liam. But Liam is a far stronger person than Zayn, obviously, and he can’t deny the fact that he’s freaking out a bit as he knocks on the door.

The woman that answers has Liam’s eyes. It’s the first thing he notices. They don’t radiate warmth the way that Liam’s do, though. The second thing he notices is the surprised look in them, and then realization.

“Zayn,” she says. “Right?”

“Um, yeah,” Zayn says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Is Liam home?”

“Yes, he is,” she answers, not inviting him in.

“Can I see him?”

Her eyes narrow just a bit and she say, “I’m sorry. He just got back from-- volunteering. He’s a bit tired. Maybe you could come back--,”

“I know he doesn’t volunteer,” Zayn tells her. He feels impolite cutting her off, but he can’t help it.

“Oh,” she says softly. “Right, well, in that case you might as well come in, then.”

Zayn nods and she opens the door widely. He steps inside and takes off his shoes, and then she gestures to the stairs. “His room is the second on he left. I warn you that he’s in a bit of a mood today. Chemo does that to him.”

“Thank you,” Zayn tells her.

She smiles faintly at him. “You brightened up his world, you know,” she says softly, like it’s a secret.

Zayn shakes his head because she’s wrong. Liam brightened his in a way that he didn’t even think was possible.

He doesn’t knock on Liam’s door. It feels fitting, given the fact that Liam had done the same to him the first time they met.

“I’m not hungry,” Liam groans from his bed. He’s on his side, blankets pulled up over his shoulders. There’s a television on the desk a few feet from his bed, and he’s watching one of the Lord of the Rings movies.

The room is very Liam, he thinks. It’s neat and orderly, and the walls are painted a calming cream colour that isn’t too distracting. It’s a bit dorky, too, with the various posters on the walls for video games and Star Wars and a Lord of the Rings poster that Zayn used to own, actually.

“Good thing I didn’t bring food, then,” Zayn says.

Liam sits up so fast it makes even Zayn’s head spin. He looks like shit, Zayn thinks. If he looked tired and thin the other day, it’s nothing to how he looks today. There’s a thin coating of sweat covering his skin, too, making it glisten in the faint light coming through the open curtains.

“Zayn,” Liam says softly.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing here?” Liam wonders, and Zayn can’t tell if he sounds more angry or dejected. It’s a pretty even amount of both, really.

Zayn rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I came to apologize, mostly,” he admits. “And just to see you.”

Liam’s eyes narrow. “If I told you to leave, would you?”

“No,” Zayn says firmly.

Liam rolls his eyes and falls back onto the bed. “I didn’t think so,” he admits. “Fine, say what you want.”

Zayn doesn’t hesitate in crawling into Liam’s bed. It smells like him, and it’s comfortable and warm. He wants to curl up in it with Liam and never leave. Like, if he could just keep Liam in bed, and in his arms, he could make sure that Liam was okay. He _will_ make sure that Liam is okay.

He settles in like Liam had that day in the hospital, on his back with his hands folded on his stomach, eyes on the ceiling. “I freaked out,” Zayn admits.

“No shit,” Liam says.

“I thought I liked it when you swore, but I don’t, actually,” Zayn tells him. “Not when you’re swearing _at_  me, anyways.”

“Just get on with it,” Liam snaps. “I’m tired, and I was watching a movie.”

Zayn nods to himself and then continues. “I’m still freaking out. It’s sort of a lot to deal with, you know.”

“You’re not the one who has to live with it,” Liam reminds him.

Zayn turns on his side to face Liam, but Liam won’t look at him. “I do, though,” Zayn tells him. “I do because I love you so--,”

“Don’t,” Liam says, cutting him off. “Don’t say it, because I don’t want to hear it. I didn’t _want_ you to love me, okay? I didn’t because I can’t deal with watching you go through this the way I’ve had to watch my parents go through it. You know, it’s not that bad for me. I’ve accepted it, right? But everyone around you, when you’re sick, can’t seem to do that. They can’t deal with it. And it fucking hurts to know that they’re hurting, and it’s all my fault. I can’t do that with you, too.”

“Too bad,” Zayn says, and he hates the way his words sound thick. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“What if I told you to?”

“If you really think that would work then you don’t know me as well as you should,” Zayn tells him.

Liam finally turns to him, and he searches Zayn’s eyes for a moment. “This is why I never told you,” he says quietly. “Because now it’s all you’ll think about when we’re together. Every time you look at me it’ll be all you see. It ruins everything, and now it’s ruined this, too.”

“That’s not true,” Zayn says, because it’s not. In fact, looking into Liam’s eyes, it’s really, really fucking easy to forget. Liam’s not buying it, though, so he digs into his back pocket and pulls out a piece of paper that is far more warn than it should be. “This is what I see, okay? And that’s not going to change.”

Liam takes the paper and unfolds it. Zayn watches his reactions, watches the way his eyes widen and his thumb brushes over the page. Tears well in his eyes and he coughs roughly before saying, “This doesn’t even look like me anymore.”

And it’s sort of true. His cheeks are thinner, he’s not smiling at all, and there’s something internally pained in his expression that there wasn’t when Zayn had finished the drawing. “It will,” Zayn says, pulling it back. He folds up the paper because he’s not giving it to Liam, he just wanted to show him. “When you get better, it will.”

“If,” Liam says while Zayn’s pocketing the drawing again.

“What?” Zayn asks, turning to face him.

Liam shrugs, expression carefully blank. “ _If_ I get better, Zayn.”

“Don’t do that,” Zayn says forcefully, anger bubbling up inside of him. “That’s not fair. That’s my thing. I’m the pessimist. You’re the one who looks on the bright side, Liam. You’re the one who’s supposed to tell me it’ll be okay, not the other way around.”

“I’m not going to lie about it,” Liam gets out, hand brushing over Zayn’s cheek. He realizes that he’s crying _again,_ and he almost wishes Louis were here to slap him and call him a little bitch just so he could stop.

“I want you to,” Zayn tells him, pushing at Liam’s shoulder. “You’re _supposed_ to. That’s what you _do._ ”

“If it helps,” Liam says without meeting his eyes, “I love you, too.”

“It doesn’t,” Zayn gasps out. “It doesn’t help at all. That only makes it hurt worse.”

He can’t breathe again. His chest feels so tight and heavy. He sucks in but it’s like the air can’t move through his lungs. And then Liam is on top of him, hands on his chest, fingers curling into his shirt.

“Breathe,” Liam orders. Zayn tries. “Slower, calmer. You’re fine, Zayn. You’re fine.”

“I don’t care about me,” Zayn says breathlessly. He cups Liam’s face and brushes his thumb over his cheekbone, being as gentle as possible.

Liam slaps his hand away, and there’s something fiery in his eyes. “If you want to be in my life, you’re going to have to deal with this,” Liam tells him. “Do you hear me, Zayn? I can’t have you treating me like something breakable. I can’t have you looking like you’re terrified of me. I can’t.”

“I’m scared _for_ you, not _of_ you,” Zayn tells him.

Liam shakes his head. “I don’t care. If all I see when I look into your eyes terror, I won’t be able to look into them anymore.”

Zayn listens to Liam’s earlier instructions. He breathes, he calms down a bit, he clears his mind some. He’s still struggling to come to terms with this. He’s still struggling just to understand. But the thing is, he can’t not have Liam in his life. So if that’s what Liam wants, if Liam wants him to act like it’s no big deal, that’s what he’ll do.

“Okay,” Zayn agrees. He nods. “Okay. But-- you’re going to have to give me time to adjust. To figure everything out.”

“Okay,” Liam repeats. “No more crying though, alright? That’s rule number one. I can’t stand it when people cry around me, especially not you.”

Zayn wipes at his cheeks and, instead of grinning, he narrows his eyes and pouts a bit. “Can I still angst and brood?”

“I wouldn’t have you any other way,” Liam says happily.

“Can we cuddle and watch Lord of the Rings while you answer a few of my questions?”

Liam sighs and nods. “Yeah, I guess that’s fair.”

Liam sets up the pillows so that Zayn is laying behind him, and his head is propped up a bit higher. His own head is more on Zayn’s chest than his own pillow, and Zayn’s arm and leg are around him, holding him close. He still smells like cinnamon, and Zayn ducks his head to kiss Liam’s forehead because of it.

“So how sick are you?” Zayn asks quietly.

“That’s not an easy question to answer,” Liam tells him. “They’re not exactly sure at the moment. I have tests coming up in two weeks again, and they’ll be able to tell whether or not the therapy is working. Until then I can’t really answer that question.”

“Okay,” Zayn says, hand sliding under Liam’s shirt. He rubs at his stomach as he thinks. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been sick, is it?”

“No,” Liam admits. “When I was nine, same thing. I spent most of the next two years in the hospital because of it, but I was okay afterwards. I didn’t go back to school, though, which is why I’m so-- you know. Awkward, or whatever. My mum home schools me, and I don’t really have friends, except for Niall, but he lives next door so he could always come over when my mum thought I was too sick to leave the house.”

“What are the chances of you getting better again?”

“Fairly good, at the moment.” Liam tilts his head back and closes his eyes, lashes brushing against his too sharp cheekbones. “Unless I’m not reacting right to the chemo.”

“What happens then?” Zayn asks softly.

“Then I get _really_ sick,” Liam answers, equally soft. “If I don’t respond to the chemo, the chances of me getting better get significantly smaller.”

“Well that’s not going to happen,” Zayn says firmly, pulling Liam impossibly closer.

Liam snorts. “You don’t know that.”

Zayn kisses his neck, right over the mark that he likes. “Yeah, I do,” he says against his skin.

Liam sighs against him and says, “I’m not going to argue with you.”

“Good.” Zayn smiles against his skin. “What are you doing on Saturday?”

“Spending the day with you, obviously,” Liam says, much like Zayn had the day after he was released from the hospital, when he’d called Liam and Liam had asked him out.

“Perfect,” Zayn says. “I read online that there’s supposed to be an extended trailer for Iron Man three after the movie.”

Liam shakes his head. “So we’re going to go watch an entire two hour long movie, just to see a trailer for a movie that won’t be out for eight months?”

Zayn brushes a hand over Liam’s head, and for the first time he realizes that Liam doesn’t have a buzz cut because he likes it. It’s just another thing that proves that he really is sick. And Zayn pushes that thought away because he promised Liam he wouldn’t think like that. He likes the buzz cut, likes the way it feels under his fingers, and that’s that.

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Zayn confirms.

“You’re ridiculous,” Liam tells him. “And a dork. You like to pretend that you’re cool, with your brooding looks and your art and that leather jacket, but you’re secretly the biggest dork.”

“So are you,” Zayn argues. “You’ve got the whole jock look down pat, but I’m staring at a _Doctor Who_  poster right now. ”

“Yeah, but I’m okay with that,” Liam says, rolling over so they’re face to face. “You try to hide it.”

“Not with you,” Zayn points out.

“No, not with me,” Liam agrees, and then he smiles, and bright and sunny and perfect.

They don’t go back to watching the movie. Instead Zayn kisses Liam until he figures his own mouth tastes like cinnamon, too, and until Liam is breathless and gasping into his mouth, eyes squeezed closed. Zayn’s are still resolutely open, and when Liam pulls back and blinks at him he asks why.

“Because I want to memorize all of you,” Zayn admits, running his fingers over Liam’s adorably bushy eyebrows. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

“You’re soft,” Liam informs him, a teasing grin on his face that conflicts with the wetness in his eyes. “Just like you act like you’re not a dork, you act like you don’t give a shit about anything, too, but you do.”

Zayn pulls him back in for another kiss. “I do,” he admits. “But that’s a secret, just for you.”

Liam huffs out an amused breath against his lips. “You cheesy fuck.”

“Liam,” Zayn scolds. “Listen to your potty mouth. I’ve corrupted you.”

“I’d like for you to,” Liam says honestly, pulling back so Zayn can see that he’s serious.

Zayn kisses him back. “Okay.”

 

\--

 

It’s so painfully awkward. Harry is staring at Liam, and Louis isn’t talking, and Liam’s eyes narrow as he takes this in. To an outsider he figures that nothing looks off about this picture at all. Except Zayn isn’t an outsider, and he knows that Louis and Harry are both reacting not just to the knowledge that Liam is sick, but that it’s actually sort of noticeable if you know what you’re looking for. Liam _could_ look like a normal, healthy teenage boy, except Zayn’s used to him being bigger, and he’s used to more colour in his cheeks and a more genuine smile.

“You told them,” Liam states, giving Zayn a look that isn’t really anything but flat.

“He told me,” Louis cuts in. “I told Harry because I’ve got a gigantic mouth. I’m sorry.”

Liam sighs and says, “I should just go.”

“No!” Louis says loudly. “No. You know what? Fuck this. We are not going to be weird about this. Liam, have you ever had a threesome?”

Zayn groans because, really? “Um, no,” Liam says, frowning at him.

Louis slings an arm around Liam’s shoulder and starts guiding him inside the cinema. “Good, because Harold and myself have been looking for a third, but Zayn refuses because he’s, like, committed to you or some shit. Who knows, he’s so boring.”

Zayn sort of wants to cry again, but he’s in public so he’s not going to do that. It’s just that Louis is sometimes a wonderful person, and Liam is snorting his dorky laugh and grinning brightly, and it’s normal again already.

“He’s great, isn’t he?” Harry asks.

Zayn grins at where Louis and Liam are paying for their tickets, Liam shaking his head at something Louis is saying before he bursts into a laugh that Zayn can hear from across the room. “Yeah, he really is.”

At the end of the movie they stay sitting, even though Louis and Harry are both already getting up. “What are you doing?” Louis asks.

Zayn and Liam stare resolutely at the screen. “Iron Man,” Liam offers.

“Iron-- what?”

“Shut up,” Zayn hisses as they wait for the trailer to start.

“You would definitely be Tony Stark,” Liam tells him as they wait for the trailer to start up. “If you were any superhero, that is.”

Zayn wonders if he should be offended by this, but then decides that he’s not. Tony is a badass, and he’s hilarious. Plus, the super suit is fucking cool. “What about you?”

“Batman,” Liam says, obviously. “Or Captain America.”

“I can see that,” Zayn says, nodding. “I can definitely see that.”

“You two are fucking weird,” Louis says fondly. “We’ll meet you out front. Try not to come in your pants when it starts.”

Zayn flips him off before grabbing Liam’s hand. A moment later the trailer starts up and Liam squeezes his hand. When it’s over they both just sit there in stunned silence before Zayn says, “Fuck. We have to go see that the night it comes out.”

“Definitely,” Liam says, but it sounds weird. When he looks over Liam has dropped his gaze to his hands, and then it clicks in Zayn’s head that Liam might not be able to.

“Definitely,” Zayn repeats with more conviction. “We will.”

Liam smiles at him but it’s not sunny. It’s a little sad and a little sympathetic, like he feels bad for all of this, and he pities Zayn. Zayn _hates_ pity, so he kisses Liam until that look is wiped from his face.

 

\--

 

The next weekend Liam spends in the hospital. He tells Zayn not to visit him, and Zayn only agrees because Liam makes him promise. They’re just running tests, apparently. The only reason he has to stay overnight is because he’ll likely be too tired afterwards to get home, and they want to monitor him.

And Zayn is sort of a nervous fucking wreck the whole weekend, because everything in his life could be flipped upside down in a matter of days. Either Liam’s getting better or he isn’t, and he’s going to find out on Monday.

Louis spends most of the day with him on Saturday, and then on Sunday he’s with Harry, too, and Niall, which isn’t really weird at all to Zayn, even though they haven’t spoken all that much. Niall, at least, seems to be in the same boat as Zayn. He’s distracted and he looks just as worried, and every time his phone rings he sighs when it’s not Liam calling early with news.

He’s attempting to do homework on Monday when someone puts a hand on his arm and slides it down his chest, and then a pair of lips are on his neck. Zayn startles and drops his pen, whirling around immediately. Liam is grinning down at him, and it’s so bright it literally warms the cold inside Zayn that had seemed permanent since that day when Liam kicked him out of his house.

“It’s working, then,” Zayn says, eyes wide. “You’re getting better, right?”

Liam keeps grinning and pulls him up into a kiss. He lifts Zayn right off his feet in a way that should make him a bit annoyed (he’s not that light, okay, he is large and strong and manly -- but Liam is a lot larger, a lot stronger, and equally manly) but doesn’t really.

“I love you,” Liam mutters into the kiss, dropping Zayn on the bed. He crawls on top of him instantly, kissing Zayn even harder. “I love you.” Another kiss. “So much.” Another. “I didn’t even think it was possible for this to-- to be something that I could ever have.” His hands tug at Zayn’s hair. “You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me, I just-- just know that, okay?”

Zayn pushes on his shoulders and frowns up at him. “Why are you crying?” he asks. “I thought--,”

“I’m just really, really happy,” Liam promises, kissing him again. Then, much quieter, he adds, “So happy.”

Zayn returns his blinding grin and kisses Liam back until he can’t help but pull away and ask, “Can we celebrate?”

Liam chuckles and swipes a piece of Zayn’s hair from where it’s fallen into his eyes. “We can do anything you want to do.”

“Anything,” Zayn repeats. “You should really watch what you say, Batman boy. _Anything_ leaves a lot up to the imagination.”

“I thought your thing was angst ridden teenager, not hormonal teenager,” Liam teases.

Zayn rolls his hips up and says, eyes heavily lidded, “Baby, I can be both.”

“You’re so weird,” Liam groans, sitting up.

Zayn keeps grinning. “You love it.”

Liam shakes his head but doesn’t deny it.

 

\--

 

He calls Louis and Harry and invites Niall, too, and borrows his mum’s car. The five of them go Go Karting. It was the best thing Zayn could think of, since Louis had suggested laser tag, but Zayn had shot that down because Liam still looks tired and worn out, and he doesn’t want to push him too far.

It’s fun. Zayn is blindingly happy, he can barely even think through it. Louis teases him mercilessly, Harry looks genuinely happy for them, and Niall just seems a little above the whole thing, or unattached. He can’t quite describe it, but he finds Liam and Niall separated from the group at one point, arguing with each other. He goes to eavesdrop but Louis grabs his arm and tugs him away before he can, and by the time he gets back they’re not talking anymore.

After that things just get… easier. Liam still has chemo for another two weeks, and Zayn picks him up afterwards every time (his mum has almost completely relinquished her car keys to him, though it’s not like she ever really uses it anyways) and then they go back to Liam’s, where Liam will lay in bed and complain and Zayn will pet his hair and make him laugh and rewatch every one of their favourite movies.

And then it’s so normal. They date and sneak out later then they’re allowed. They makeout everywhere they can -- like their beds and couches and in Zayn’s mum’s car and at the back of the movie theatre and at the park bench and, really, anywhere that Liam will let him--, when they’re in public either Zayn refuses to release Liam’s hand, or Liam refuses to release his. They are like every obnoxious teenage couple, but Zayn thinks they’re more than that. There’s something different there, and even Louis comments on it all the time, laughing at how ridiculously infatuated with each other he and Liam are. Liam flushes but Zayn grins proudly because, yeah, he’s in love with Liam. What’s wrong with that?

It isn’t until weeks later that Zayn realizes there actually is something wrong with that. Or, more accurately, something wrong with Liam. He should be getting better, that’s what he said. But one day when they’re in bed Zayn pushes up his shirt, and Liam is just as thin as he was before, if not even more so. He should be putting weight back on, but he’s not. And now that Zayn notices that, he notices everything.

Like the fact that Liam never lets his mum talk to them for more than a few quick seconds. The fact that he and Niall argue in secret almost every time the three of them are together. Like the fact that there are still bags under his eyes and his clothes still hang off him and he still doesn’t ever agree to going out for dinner, nor does he eat in front of Zayn, really.

It isn’t until he gets a call at about ten at night from Niall that he really admits to himself what he’s been trying to deny. “He’s at the hospital,” Niall tells him. “I think you should let him explain.”

Zayn stares at the wall above his bed, swallowing thickly and trying to breathe. “He lied, didn’t he?” Zayn asks softly.

“Yeah,” Niall agrees before he hangs up.

Zayn closes his eyes for a moment before getting out of bed. He doesn’t change out of his pyjamas but he does grab a sweater, and then he heads downstairs. His mum is still up, and he quietly asks her to drive him to the hospital.

“What happened?” she asks, alarmed.

Zayn shrugs and shakes his head. “I don’t really know.”

She ruffles his hair as she gets her keys. Zayn can’t even remember if she said anything else on the whole drive. All he can remembers is the words _he lied, he lied, he lied,_ echoing in his mind.

When they get there his mum asks if he wants her to come in with him. He says no, and he walks through the doors with his head ducked because he remembers when he left, he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t ever come back in here unless he was being dragged, or someone he loved was dying. He really, really wishes someone were dragging him.

He has to ask the receptionist where to go, and she sends him to the second floor. He finds Liam’s parents in the waiting room, and his mum stands up when he gets there. She hugs him and then pulls back and says, “Niall called you, didn’t he?”

Zayn nods. “Can I go see him, or…?”

“Of course,” she says quickly. “We’re just waiting for the doctor, but-- yes, I think it would be good if you’d go see him.”

Zayn nods again and heads for the door, but he turns at the last second. “He told me he was getting better.”

Liam’s mum smiles sadly. “I figured he would. He tries to be strong for everyone, Liam. But I always ask him who gets to be strong for him.”

Zayn doesn’t know what to say to that, so instead he just heads for Liam’s door and pushes it open without knocking. Liam looks up and then closes his eyes and, for good measure, covers them with his arm. “You shouldn’t be here,” Liam tells him. “Who called you?”

“Niall,” Zayn says.

He moves towards the visitors chair and sinks into it, feeling suddenly so wrong. That’s Liam’s spot. He should be the one in bed, and Liam should be in the visitors chair, and Liam shouldn’t look so thin under the stupidly scratchy hospital blankets, and he shouldn’t have a machine hooked up to his left arm, and none of this should be happening.

“I’m sorry,” Liam tells him, dropping his arm. “I’m sorry I lied.”

“So am I,” Zayn says. “I’m sorry that you -- felt the need to keep this from me. To try and make things better for me, when I should have been trying to make them better for you.”

“There’s nothing you could have done,” Liam tells him fiercely. “And I had to, okay? I had to lie, because if I didn’t these last two months would have been spent with you freaking out and worrying, and instead we got to enjoy ourselves.”

“We still can,” Zayn says firmly.

Liam laughs bitterly and shakes his head. “No, we can’t.” He tries to grin but it’s so weak that it breaks Zayn’s heart. “You don’t get it, but this is _it,_  Zayn. This is what it’s going to be like from now on. They’ll keep me I here to monitor me, and they’ll do their tests, and they’ll try their medicines until-- until--,” he waves a hand.

“Until _what?_ ” Zayn demands.

Liam stops pretending to smile. “I’m not getting better, Zayn, you get that, right? I’m not getting better, and this is _it._ ”

“Liam--,”

“This is all I can offer you anymore, and I’m sorry that-- that it’s not what you deserve, but-- this is as best as we’re going to get from here on out, so if you want to walk away, I’d like for you to do it now,” Liam says quietly.

He is telling the truth. He’s not exaggerating it to try and push Zayn away, because Liam isn’t like that. He’s telling Zayn the honest truth; this is what they have left, and that’s it.

“If I was going to walk out I would have done it a long time ago, you dork,” Zayn says shakily while wiping tears out of his eyes. He tries to grin as best as he can. “Christ, Liam, look what you’ve done to me. Now I’m crying _and_ smiling. You’ve broken me.”

It was supposed to be a joke. He was _joking,_ but Liam doesn’t take it that way. “I know,” he says softly. “I’m so sorry, Zayn.”

Zayn shrugs and takes his hand. “I’m not.”

 

\--

 

He doesn’t go home that night, but Liam’s parents do, Liam’s mum in tears while she hugs him goodbye, his father trying to hide his own as best as he can but his eyes are still obviously red rimmed. They just talk, mostly. Liam shares a story about his family at Christmas when his mum burnt the turkey and his sisters both got the chicken pox. Zayn tells him about the time Louis nearly got them arrested, which Liam laughs at though Zayn still has hard feelings about that whole thing. At some point a nurse comes in to check on him and Zayn ducks into the bathroom to avoid hearing what she says. He’d rather be oblivious. He doesn’t want to know the details. All he cares about is whether or not Liam’s going to be okay; the rest is unimportant.

Of course, his mum drags him home the next day for a shower and then he comes back and spends the rest of the afternoon in Liam’s bed while they watch movies and talk more. He has to go to school the next day, and he does so reluctantly. It’s sort of hard to focus on class when everything is Liam, and he knows it’s not healthy but he really doesn’t care. School will always be there; Liam might not.

Technically Liam is only allowed to have three visitors at once, but they sort of break that rule on Friday when Louis, Harry, and Niall come to visit. But Zayn doesn’t think it’s technically broken, given the fact that Zayn doesn’t count as a guest. He practically lives there with Liam, only leaving when he’s physically dragged out (and isn’t that just ironic as fuck, he thinks).

“Hey, babe,” Louis says when he comes into the room. He eyes Liam slowly, and Zayn shifts uncomfortably on Liam’s behalf until Louis says, “Yeah, I’d still go there, definitely.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Your obvious attraction to my boyfriend makes me really uncomfortable.”

“Same,” Harry puts in while sitting on the edge of the bed. He falls back so he’s spread out over Liam’s legs, his head in Liam’s lap. Liam idly plays with his hair, and Zayn’s chest constricts because he loves them both so much, and this isn’t _fair._

“Whatever,” Louis says, pulling him out of his dark thoughts. “I’m just saying, we could have an orgy. Niall, you’d be invited too.”

Niall looks at him as he falls into the visitors chair. “I’ll pass,” he says. “Dick isn’t really my thing.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Harry tells him.

Liam chuckles and Zayn laughs loudly to make up for it. “You do realize how boring it is here, right?” Liam asks them all. “You don’t have to be here.” He looks at Zayn. “Except you. You’re not allowed to leave.”

“Wouldn’t want to anyways,” Zayn says, head falling onto Liam’s shoulder.

“Fucking PDA,” Niall groans. “Can we, like, not?”

Zayn kisses Liam, sloppy and wet and lovely. Until he has to throw a pillow at Louis, who is watching them with too much interest. “Fuck off, perv,” Zayn says.

“I was just taking in your technique.” Louis pushes his hair off his forehead. “Far too much tongue, Zayn. You want to kiss him, not suffocate him.”

“I want to suffocate you.”

“Good thing we’re in a hospital, then,” Harry puts in. “Zayn can attempt to murder Lou all he wants and help is just a shout away.”

“You three are ridiculous,” Niall comments.

Liam grins at him. “They are,” he agrees. “I’m sort of weirdly fond of them, though.”

“Aw,” Louis coos. He jumps on the bed, right on top of Zayn, who groans and shifts, and then there’s far too many bodies on the bed because he and Liam just barely fit together. Harry, and Louis’ gigantic ass, is just too much. “Niall, get in on this. Come, we must group hug.”

“We must not,” Niall says back.

Louis sticks his tongue out at him, and Zayn wishes he had a camera to capture this moment, because it’s all sort of perfect. The way Louis and Harry’s legs have twined together. The way Liam’s tilted towards him, and his arm around Liam’s shoulder. Louis’ head on Harry’s chest, Harry’s head on Liam’s lap. Niall’s reluctantly amused expression, like he has no idea how the fuck he got into this, but he’s not really looking for a way out anyways. Perfect.

And of course Louis has to ruin it. “So do you two, like, fuck in the hospital bed? Is that allowed? Does the nurse comment on the jizz stains when she cleans out the room?”

“Get out,” Zayn groans.

“That is a completely appropriate question!” Louis defends.

That’s how most of the visit goes, really. Louis is inappropriate, but Zayn sort of loves him for it anyways because both Harry and Niall sort of accidentally treat Liam in a way that is far too gentle, and he can see the way it bothers Liam, sees it in the tightness of his mouth when he thinks no one is looking. But Louis-- Louis’ is like a fucking wrecking ball. He doesn’t filter his thoughts, and Liam is not an exception to this.

Just before they go Liam asks them all to leave, except for Louis. Zayn frowns at him and he just smiles in a pleading way.

“Okay,” Zayn says, getting out of bed. Louis looks just as confused as he feels, but Harry tugs him out of the room before he can ask what’s going on.

“He looks bad,” Harry says honestly when they’re out in the hall.

Niall sighs and for the first time Zayn notes how exhausted he looks. He has a feeling that he and Niall look about the same right now. “It’s only going to get worse,” he says quietly. “It did last time.”

Zayn leans against the wall and ducks his head so his hair (not in his quiff for several reasons, mostly because he couldn’t really be bothered to) falls into his eyes. “He’s still the most beautiful person I’ve ever met,” Zayn says honestly, because he is. He’s not saying it just to say it, or because that’s what’s expected of him; Zayn doesn’t think he’ll ever want anyone the way he wants Liam, and he’ll take him any way that he can have him. Sick, not sick, he doesn’t really care.

Louis comes out of the room a few moments later, and his cheeks are wet. Harry makes an upset sound and tries to put an arm around his waist, but Louis shoves him away and hugs Zayn instead. “I get it, you know,” Louis says while Zayn pets his hair. “I didn’t before, but I get how he just swept into your life and gave you no choice but to love him.”

Zayn doesn’t say anything because Louis already said it all.

“What’d you two talk about?” Niall asks.

Louis pulls away and fixes his hair after drying his cheeks on Zayn’s shirt. “He just asked me to bring him something.” He doesn’t elaborate any farther.

Afterwards the three of them leave and Zayn heads back into Liam’s room. Zayn falls onto the bed and Liam says, “Do you like Mark’s Hulk or Edward’s better? I didn’t think I’d like him in the Avengers, but I actually thought he did a better job.”

Zayn calls him a dork and kisses his neck.

 

\--

 

He gets his University acceptance letters (he forgot about even applying, to be completely honest) and it causes a big fight when Zayn brings up deferring for a year, but not with his parents. His mum hadn’t been pleased, but she’d accepted it eventually, and his father doesn’t really comment. But they’re not the ones telling him not to. No, that is all Liam.

“No,” Liam says when Zayn brings it up. “Zayn, don’t you even _think_ about it.”

“Already thought about it,” Zayn says with a shrug. “University will still be there next year. People take a year off all the time to go abroad and shit. Why can’t I?”

“Because you’re not doing it for you!” Liam snaps. He looks better today, and it gives Zayn false hope. His cheeks have a bit more colour, and he’s not even in bed right now because he’s too busy standing up to pace angrily around the room. “If you were doing this because it’s something you wanted for yourself, I’d be on board. But you’re doing this for me, and I won’t let you.”

“You don’t really get a say in what I do, Liam,” Zayn reminds him.

He’s so over this whole conversation. He’s laying on the bed because, unlike Liam, he doesn’t feel restlessly angry. He just feels tired.

“If you don’t go,” Liam starts, and Zayn raises his eyebrows as if to ask him, ‘Really, Liam, what are you going to do to stop me?’ Liam answers it with, “I’ll make sure you’re not allowed to visit me. I’ll tell the nurses I don’t want to see you, and security will make sure you can’t come in here.”

Zayn sits up now, mouth agape. “No way.”

“You think I won’t?” Liam challenges.

No, Zayn is fairly fucking sure that he will, actually, because Liam is hard headed. “That’s not fair!” Zayn snaps at him. “I just want to spend as much time with you as I can. This time next year you might not even _be_ here!”

“Exactly,” Liam grinds out. “Exactly, Zayn! You have to accept this! And your whole fucking life can’t revolve around me. I won’t let you do that to yourself. I won’t watch you do that to yourself.”

“So you’ll just push me away completely?”

“If that’s what I have to do,” Liam says quietly, eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to. You know I don’t. But I will.”

“You just want me to-- you want me to go to school while you sit here and-- and--,”

“And die, Zayn,” Liam supplies. “You haven’t said it once. Avoiding it isn’t going to make it any less true.”

“You’re not going to die,” Zayn spits. “So stop fucking acting like it’s set in stone, Liam.”

“It might as well be,” Liam tells him, sinking onto the edge of the bed. “I’ve come to terms with it. I did a long time ago. I need you to, because I can’t sit here while you lie to yourself about it.”

“I’m not having this argument with you,” Zayn says with an air of finality.

“I want you to go to school,” Liam argues, not letting it go.

Zayn sighs and closes his eyes. “Why does it matter so much?”

“Because it does,” Liam says, back to him. “Just-- Zayn, please.” He drops the angry tone. “Just do it for me, please. I swear I won’t ask you for anything else. Just promise me you’ll go.”

Zayn sits up and moves so he’s behind Liam, legs around Liam’s waist. “Okay,” he agrees, kissing the back of Liam’s neck. “On one condition.”

“Anything,” Liam says instantly.

“Promise me you’ll be okay,” Zayn says quietly.

Liam tenses. “I’ve told you before, and I’ll say it again: I’m not making promises I can’t keep.”

“So keep it.”

“Zayn--,”

“Promise and I’ll promise to go to school.”

“You know I can’t--,”

“Promise me, Liam,” Zayn says against his skin. “Promise me. Promise me, okay, because I need you to promise.”

He’s fairly sure that Liam can feel his tears on the back of his neck. And when did Zayn become such a fucking child, crying at the drop of a hat? He’s positive that he has cried more in the past couple months than he has in the past ten years combined.

“Okay,” Liam says after a moment. “I promise.”

“Thank you,” Zayn murmurs, arms going around Liam’s waist. “One more thing.”

Liam sighs. “You said only one condition.”

“I lied,” Zayn says easily. “I want another promise.”

“What, do you want me to promise to end world hunger? Or maybe to assure world peace?”

“No, I want you to promise that we’ll go to Iron Man 3 on the night it comes out. First showing at the cinema. I don’t care if we have to wait outside for, like, hours.”

Liam chuckles but it sounds like a sob. “I promise.”

“Good,” Zayn says. “Now can we cuddle?”

“You have a cuddling addiction,” Liam notes.

“I do not.”

“You do. Zayn Malik: giant softy. There’s not a hardcore bone in your body.”

“Really.” Zayn pushes himself against Liam’s back. “Are you sure about that? Because that bone feels pretty--,”

“Don’t go there,” Liam begs. “God, and I thought I was weird.”

 

\--

 

By the time summer comes around, Liam really isn’t getting better. Before he could get out of bed, and he was fine to walk around and it was almost possible to just pretend that he wasn’t sick. That he was just a bit thin and pale. But now he can’t get around without a wheelchair most days, and spends them all sleeping most of the time.

Zayn leaves one day and comes back later to find Liam hooked up to several machines. He remembers when he thought Liam was a robot because he was just too perfect, and now he really looks like it. There’s more tubes and machinery than there is _Liam,_ and it scares him because this is really happening. There’s no denying it anymore. He isn’t just not getting better; he’s getting worse.

Louis comes by almost every day by this point, and on Thursday he brings Harry, a video camera, and CDs for Liam. He pops one of he CDs in the DVD player and lets the music fill the room. Zayn is jumping for the remote when The Fray’s _How to Save a Life_ comes on, but Liam holds it firmly away from him.

“I like this song,” he says. Zayn wants to snap the CD into pieces.

“Ooh, look,” Louis says, pointing the camera at him. Harry rolls his eyes and adjusts it for him. “Our first domestic argument caught on tape. Watch as the Zayn attempts to wrangle the remote from his lovers tight grip. But ah, the Liam is not to be underestimated as his arms are inhumanely long. Zayn’s tyrannosaurus-rex arms are no match for Liam’s freakish orangutang arms.”

“Turn that thing off, Louis,” Zayn hisses, dropping his arm to glare at Louis through the camera that he has held up to his eye.

“No,” Louis says defiantly. “Liam asked me to, so I’m doing this.”

Zayn turns to him, mouth open. “You asked him to do this?”

“Yes.” Liam looks defiant, too, and Zayn thinks that he needs to stop spending time with Louis; he really is a bad influence.

“Why?” Zayn asks.

Liam shrugs and Louis shrugs, and Zayn and Harry are left there to guess at what they’re both obviously hiding. “Okay,” Harry says slowly. “Louis, is this part of your kinky plan to get Liam naked, because I’m really not comfortable with this anymore.”

That breaks the spell; Louis and Liam both laugh, while Zayn puts a possessive hand on Liam’s thigh. Louis can get his own Liam; this one is Zayn’s.

The video camera becomes a permanent fixture. It’s rarely on when Louis’ not in the room, but it’s always there. Sometimes Liam pulls it over and makes Zayn turn it on for him (Louis and Liam are both completely incapable of using it themselves, and Zayn and Harry are always having to show them) so he can do nothing but video tape Zayn while he’s trying to sketch, or even just to put it on the bedside table, pointed at nothing while they watch Batman. He doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t ask because every time that he did, Liam barely answered.

It’s like almost every moment of their summer could be found on several tapes. And it’s going by far too fast. Zayn doesn’t want it to end because, when it does, he’ll be leaving. He promised Liam he’d go to school, and he plans on keeping that promise. Doesn’t mean he’s going far. The school he’d originally wanted to go to, before he met Liam, was seven hours away. The one he’s actually going to is a short hour and a half train ride from home, and he plans on taking it every weekend as soon as his last class ends.

He doesn’t want to go. He really, really doesn’t want to go. He puts off packing until the last minute. He spends barely any time in his room to do it anyways, only sleeps there when the nurses kick him out and force him to go home (which most of them don’t even bother to, because they all love Liam and therefore they tolerate Zayn by association), and he hates it. The bed doesn’t smell like cinnamon at all anymore, and when he tries to sleep in it he spends the whole night tossing and turning.

But he can’t control anything anymore, or that’s how it feels. The days come closer and closer until he’s got to leave.

Louis is driving him. His own school is three hours away, and he’s having as many separation issues as Zayn is. Harry’s going to school an hour in the opposite direction, and the two of them are as co-dependent as he is with Liam. Except Louis and Harry can leave every weekend with an almost positive knowledge that the other will be there at the end of it. Zayn doesn’t have that luxury.

They’re leaving extremely early in the morning, far before visiting hours start. Zayn doesn’t care, and no one stops him on his way to Liam’s room. Louis said his goodbye yesterday, and it was tear filled and painful to witness, but this one is just for them.

Liam is awake when he gets there. His breathing is heavy and laboured even though Zayn knows that he probably hasn’t moved at all in hours. That’s just the norm lately.

Zayn doesn’t even walk in all the way at first. Instead he stands there and takes Liam in, doing his best to memorize every little detail. Takes in the sharpness of his cheekbones, and how defined that incredible jaw looks now. He takes in the edges of Liam’s shoulders, bones obvious even under the material of his far too loose t-shirt. Takes in the darkness under his eyes, like Zayn had been sketching and then smudged his thumb underneath Liam’s eyes afterwards. Takes in the way his lips are no longer a healthy pink but are instead almost as white as the rest of him.

But the eyes. The eyes never change. They are still wide and warm and the most impossibly beautiful things he’s ever seen. And they’re trained on his own, like Liam’s attempting to do the same thing he is.

“What are you doing?” Liam asks. His voice is weak and brittle and it seems to crack and fall heavily in the air.

“Memorizing you,” Zayn admits. “I want to memorize you in case-- I just am.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Liam says quietly. “Don’t see why you’d want to.”

Zayn goes to him, sinks onto the visitors chair. “Several reasons,” he says, grinning in a wobbly, uncertain way. “Mostly just ‘cause you’re hot as fuck, though.”

Liam snorts feebly. “You’re ridiculous.”

Zayn shrugs. “I can live with that.”

“How long do we have?” Liam asks suddenly.

Zayn looks him over and thinks _not very._ But that isn’t what Liam means. “About ten minutes, give or take,” Zayn says quietly.

Liam nods. “Okay,” Liam says. “Okay. Um. We’re doing two more weeks of chemo,” he tells Zayn. “If it doesn’t work they’re, um, they’re going to… to stop. Trying, I mean.”

Zayn bites his tongue and feels his face contort as he tries not to react to that, because he promised himself no tears. “Okay.”

“You never know though, right?” Liam says. “Miracles, or some shit. It happens.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says softly.

Liam looks pained, like he’s trying as hard as Zayn is not to do this, but there’s no way to avoid it. “I did try, you know. To keep my promise. I tried, Zayn, but I’m tired.”

“I know,” Zayn says, because he does. He’s tired, too. “I’ll be here this weekend, though. Promise. Every weekend, no matter what.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Shit.” Zayn wipes at his eyes pathetically. “Shit, Liam, I just-- I can’t. I can’t do this. I can’t--.,” he stands up. “I’m sorry, I really can’t.”

He heads for the door because that’s what he does. He’s weak, always has been. But he can’t open it. Instead he leans against it, the cool wood soothing his too warm forehead. He tries to breathe, tries to remember how. He’s itching for a cigarette but he can’t have one inside, and it’s not like he has the time to sneak outside to have one and then come back in. The clock is ticking and Zayn is wasting time.

He turns around and Liam is just staring blankly at the wall. He’s not even crying, not really. There’s no sobs and his body isn’t moving. Tears are just falling from his eyes steadily like he can’t help it.

“I love you,” Zayn tells him, moving towards the bed again. He takes Liam’s hand -- the one without the tube connected to it. “So much, okay?”

“Promise you won’t find some hot guy at University who, like, wears beanies and reads poetry and spends all night at Starbucks?”

Zayn chokes out a laugh. “Promise.”

“And you better actually do your homework, Zayn,” he says. “I know you pretend to all the time but you really just read comics.”

“I will.”

“And takes pictures for me, too. Bring them back on the weekend. I want to see your room, and the library, and the campus.”

“I will.”

“And-- and promise me that _you’ll_ be okay.”

Zayn shakes his head and says, “I won’t make promises I can’t keep.”

Liam nods, like he accepts this, and then pulls him in for a kiss that is far too watery from their tears. Zayn pulls back after a moment, licking his lips to chase the faint taste of cinnamon. “I love you,” Liam says finally.

Zayn nods. “This weekend. I’ll-- this weekend. I need to go before Louis comes in here and drags me out.”

Liam grins at him, bright and sunny. “Go live your life, Zayn,” Liam tells him, and he knows that he will because it’ll make Liam happy.

When he gets outside Louis is leaning against his car. He takes one look at Zayn and wraps him in a hug that hurts, but he hugs back just as tightly. Louis knows him, knows him so well, so they don’t talk about it. They get in the car, Louis turns the music up loudly, and they just drive.

 

\--

 

His roommate is an annoying little shit that thinks it’s okay to listen to Black Sabbath at two in the morning, who leaves his clothes _everywhere,_ and who leaves Starbucks cups littered around the room. Zayn spends as much time out of the room as possible. He likes the library best, because it’s huge and endless and quite, and it smells like books.

He gets the tattoo on Wednesday. He doesn’t even think about it. He’s exploring the town, just walking around, smoking, trying not to think, and he passes the tattoo shop before doubling back and pushing open the door.

He gets it on his hip, a little lower than the heart that Liam confessed was his favourite tattoo that Zayn had (which hasn’t ever made sense to him, because it was the stupidest one he got, but Liam is always very insistent about liking it). It’s small and simple and cheap, and it barely took any time to get it done.

“What kind of sun?” the guy had asked when Zayn walked up the counter.

Zayn shrugged. “Whatever one shines the brightest.”

The guy had frowned at him, but he works at a tattoo shop so he’s obviously used to dealing with weird as hell requests that he probably thinks are really stupid. He lets the guy have free reign with it, though, and in the end he loves it. It’s black on the outside, but the black fades closer to the center until it’s a bright, sunny yellow. Zayn throws him an extra twenty for it just because.

He shows it to Liam as soon as he gets into the room, because it’s better to talk about anything other than the fact that Liam is hooked up to more machines than he had been when he’d left.

“A sun?” Liam asks, frowning at him. “Why?”

Zayn shrugs and falls onto the bed beside him, careful not to jostle anything. “Because when you smile it’s the brightest thing I’ve ever seen, and the only thing that comes close to it is the sun.”

Liam snorts and playfully shoves his arm. “Soft,” he says, not for the first time. “Where do you hide your poetry book, Malik?”

Zayn grins at him and kisses him until he’s breathless (though that doesn’t take much at this point, but he doesn’t think about that).

 

\--

 

The second week is harder, because he knows that on Thursday Liam will know whether or not they’re going to stop trying to make him better. He spends the whole time restless. He snaps on his roommate so often that their RA actually comes in and talks to them about possibly talking to the person who takes care of rooming to switch them rooms.

On Tuesday the girl from his English class asks him out, and Zayn politely tells her that he’s already seeing someone. She says that she must be a lucky girl, and Zayn shakes his head at her because it’s not true. Not because Liam is obviously not a girl, but because he is not lucky. Zayn is the one with the luck. Zayn is the one who has him, and Zayn is the one who’s going to be fine, and Liam is not.

He doesn’t sleep Wednesday night. He tries, fuck does he try. He just can’t. He ends up sneaking outside and sitting in the grass near a tree that blocks out most of the light from the stars and the moon, and he goes through an entire pack of cigarettes, wondering why people say they’ll kill you when Zayn is clearly not dying. Not physically, at least.

He’s in class on Thursday when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He normally ignores it, because it’s just Louis texting him and complaining. But it’s not Louis, it’s Niall, and he’s not texting, he’s calling. Zayn leaves his stuff behind and ducks into the hallway to answer it.

Niall doesn’t even bother with greetings. He just says, “Go see him.” He hangs up afterwards. Zayn tries calling him back but he doesn’t answer, and Zayn has a feeling he knows why. He’s been waiting for this, and now it’s here. It’s official: Liam will not get better, and he’s go to accept that.

Zayn doesn’t want to spare the time to get his stuff from the room, but that textbook costs more than his new tattoo, and he can’t afford to lose his notes. A few people look at him as he grabs them and literally runs from the room, but he doesn’t care.

He gets to his dorm and throws his stuff on the bed before getting his extra money from where it’s hidden between a comic book. He doesn’t care that it costs him twenty quid to get a cab from the dorms to the train station. It doesn’t matter.

The ride takes so long, and Zayn is practically tugging his hair out as he watches the world pass on by him. He can’t sit still, and he wishes it were possible to run from his dorm to the hospital, but that would take days, so he’s sadly got to sit still and just _wait._

Weirdly enough, his mum is waiting for him when he arrives. He figures Niall must have told Liam he was coming, and Liam must have called her. She doesn’t talk to him at all on the way to the hospital, and Zayn’s glad because he can’t form words anyways.

A nurse yells at him to stop running when he gets to the hospital, but the thing is he _can’t,_ because this is it. This is what Liam was talking about. God only knows that every second he spends walking instead of running is a second he could have spent with Liam.

When he gets to the room he wants to cry. He remembers when Liam was bigger than him. When Liam could lift him up so easily, without any problem. Now Zayn thinks he could do the same to him. In fact, Zayn knows that if Liam even tried to pick Zayn up, he’d collapse. Or maybe he’d splinter into a hundred sharp pieces, because that’s what he is. He is all sharp edges. He is not the strong one here anymore, so Zayn is going to have to be.

“You’re sweaty,” Liam tells him, pulling his eyes away from the TV.

Zayn ignores him and climbs into the bed. “I’m not leaving at the end of the weekend,” Zayn tells him. “I’m not leaving until--,”

“Yes, you are,” Liam says firmly. “You are going to leave on Sunday, whether I have to pay someone to drag you there or not.”

Zayn resists the urge to grab Liam and shake him. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Zayn,” Liam says softly. He shakes his head and grins that stupid smile at Zayn loves too much for his own good. “You know what my doctor said today?”

Zayn shakes his head, no, and rubs absently at his cheeks. Crying isn’t even embarrassing at this point. It’s just the norm. “No,” he says, voice cracked.

Liam is still grinning. “He said--,” Liam has to pause to take a breath. “He said that, if things continue on the way they’re going, I’ll be on my feet just in time to take you to that stupid movie.”

Zayn freezes for a moment before shaking his head again, this time much more quickly, so fast his head spins. “You’re--,”

“Getting better, apparently,” Liam says. “He says I’m responding to treatment again, and that as long as nothing goes wrong, I can beat this.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Liam,” Zayn says fiercely. “Not this time. Don’t lie to me for my own good.”

Liam laughs and pulls him closer. “I’m not,” he says, lips almost against Zayn’s. “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

**Two years later**

  
“Seriously?” Zayn asks, raising his eyebrows. “Iron Man 3 again?”

“It was so good,” Liam whines. “Come on.”

“No,” Zayn says flatly. “We watched that one last weekend.”

Liam groans and says, “Fine. Fine!” He pulls out a burnt disc and frowns at it. “What’s this?”

Zayn shrugs. “I don’t know, actually. Louis gave it to me.”

“Don’t say his name,” Liam orders. “Do you know what he did this week? He drew an extremely detailed replica of Harry’s cock on the wall of our room. Veins and all.”

Zayn snorts a laugh. “You’re the one who wanted to room with him. See, I’m smart. I requested a single because roommates are bullshit.”

“I _like_ Louis,” Liam argues. “Just not in excess, apparently. And not while he’s drawing genitals all over our living space.”

Zayn grins at him fondly. “Just put the disc in. I haven’t watched it because I’m afraid it’s their sex tape, but if it is at least you have to suffer with me.”

Liam gives him an exasperated look, but he obeys, sliding the disc into the player. Afterwards he crawls into bed beside Zayn, arms around his shoulder. It’s a heavy weight because Liam works out all the fucking time (he’s giving Zayn a complex with his abs, he really is), but he doesn’t care because Liam smells like cinnamon and feels like home.

The video starts playing Liam freezes, eyes wide. “I know what this is,” he says, getting up. “I’m turning it off.”

“No, don’t,” Zayn says quickly, tugging him back down. He can see Liam on screen, and he recognizes the room. “What is this?”

Liam pulls a pillow over his face and says, “Come on, Zayn, turn it off. It’s embarrassing. You weren’t supposed to see this.”

Zayn laughs. “Well I’ve _got_ to watch it now.”

_“Wait, I don’t think it’s on yet,”_ Louis says, and suddenly his face fills up the whole screen. _“Shit, Harry usually turns it on. I don’t know how to-- oh, it’s recording.”_

“ _You’re an idiot,”_ Liam mutters fondly.

The camera suddenly moves, and it focuses on Liam. He’s in his hospital bed, obviously, and he looks drained but happy. He tries to push the camera away when Louis zooms in on his face, but Louis just moves around him so he can’t stop.

“ _So, Liam,”_ Louis says in a low, dramatic voice, _“you said you wanted to leave a message for Zayn, which, by the way, will be completely unnecessary, because I cling to people and refuse to let them go, and you’re not allowed to leave me. But, since you’re sick and also really pushy, I’ve decided to humour you. Go on, what do you want to say to your dorky as hell boyfriend?”_

Liam looks uncomfortable and he rolls his eyes at the camera -- or, more accurately, Louis on the other side of the camera-- before saying, _“I’m not doing this with you. You’re ridiculous and it’s embarrassing.”_

“ _Rude,”_ Louis scoffs. _“I am not ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.”_

_“Just give me the camera and get out for a minute, would you?”_

Louis sighs. _“Fine, fine,”_ he says. More camera jostling, and then the camera focuses on Louis’ ass.

_“Harry,”_ Liam says, _“I know you’re going to be editing this later for me, so there’s a present for you.”_ Liam chuckles to himself because Liam is adorably weird. Then the camera is moved again until it must be laying on the bed, pointed at Liam’s face. From this angle he looks more sickly than he had, and his skin is so pale it’s almost translucent.

_“Right,”_ Liam says, nodding at the camera. _“I feel really, really stupid, but I guess that’s not really the point, because this isn’t for me. It’s for you. You meaning Zayn, obviously, though I know that you aren’t the only one who’s probably going to see this. Harry will definitely see it, and Louis’ a sneaky little shit, so he’ll probably see it, too.”_

Liam pauses and gets himself a drink -- he always drank a lot when he was in the hospital, Zayn thought. He claimed his tongue got dry from the medicine, and all the hospial provided was bottled water.  Now Liam doesn’t even like to look at a water bottle, and he drinks it out of cups and refuses to take a bottle whenever someone tries to get him one-- before putting the water bottle down.

_“This isn’t an actual goodbye,”_ Liam says quietly. _“I mean, I might not be going anywhere, right? That’s what you always say to me. But this is a ‘just in case’ kind of goodbye, you know? Because you always say that I’m the strong one, but I’m sort of a coward, and I can’t say this to you face to face; not yet, at least. But I promise that if this all ends okay, I’ll tell you it all eventually. Just not today. Or anytime soon. This way it’s persevered in case I don’t have the time to work up to it. In case-- well, you know.”_

Liam sucks in a breath and grins at the screen. _“I don’t really know where to start here,”_ he admits. _“Maybe at the beginning or-- no, actually. The other day my mum came to visit. And we were talking but-- I don’t know, I felt like crying, but I had to try really hard not to because I know it upsets her. And I’m always doing that, you know? I don’t want any of you to be upset. And she brings this up all the time, and she says, ‘You’re always being strong for me.’ and I can’t deny it because it’s true. And then she says, ‘I used to wonder who was going to be strong for_ you. _I used to worry about that. But I don’t really have to anymore.’”_ He smiles wobbly. _“And she’s right, because I have you. You’re always strong for me, even though I wish you wouldn’t do that because I’d rather be there for you, but you never let me. We’re a team of martyrs, aren’t we?”_

Zayn stares raptly at the screen, taking it all in. Taking in the way that Liam had looked then, because he hasn’t looked like that in a long time. Hasn’t been that thin or pale or sick.

_“I guess I just want you to know that-- that you’re the brightest person I ever met,”_ he says. _“I knew it immediately. You were scowling angrily and kicking a vending machine with your good foot, the one that wasn’t bandaged up, and you were swearing under your breath because you’ve got a foul mouth, Zayn, always have. And finally the machine gave you your snack, because you always get your way, don’t you? You’re so pushy and demanding.”_ He chuckles. _“But that was it for me, from that moment on you were it. Have been ever since. Even if none of his happened -- if things had been different, you still would be. I don’t think I’d of ever met someone who I wanted as much as I wanted -- still want, you.”_

“Don’t cry,” Liam says suddenly, making Zayn miss a few words on screen.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn says quickly. “Can we just-- can we finish watching this?”

Liam is quiet for a moment, but eventually he nods.

_“--Batman, I was a goner. Here I was, thinking you were this cool, untouchable person, and then I learn that you’re actually the biggest dork I’ve ever met. You knew all the words, too, and you didn’t care when I talked along with the dialogue, probably because you were doing it, too.”_ He rubs at his eyes. _“I’m not very good with words, obviously. You are, though. Smooth talker._ Mostly just ‘cause you’re hot as fuck, though _. Did that actually work for you before? Did other people actually fall for that, or was it just me? I hope it was just me, actually, though I doubt it.”_

_“Louis is knocking at the door,”_ Liam says. He rolls his eyes. _“Give me another minute, I’m almost done!”_

_“You better not be masturbating on camera for him, Liam, I swear to --,”_

_“Anyways,”_ Liam says, ignoring him. _“I should hurry up. I’m not really saying anything important, anyways. Just-- I love you, you know? Like, I really, really do. And I didn’t ever think I’d get a chance at that. At this. But I did, and I just-- I promise, okay?”_ He whispers this part. _“I promise that you won’t ever have to see this, or that I’ll be beside you when you do. I shouldn’t, because I know I can’t keep it, but I promise anyways.”_

He grabs the camera then, and then turns it around and, after a few moments of fumbling, he manages to turn it off.

His dorm room is painfully silent except for their breathing. Liam is staring blankly at the screen, cheeks flushed, and Zayn’s head feels clogged and foggy.

“I kept it,” Liam says suddenly. “The promise. All of them.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says thickly. “Yeah you did.”

Zayn tugs him closer, covering the bright, happy smile on Liam’s face with his own.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, I sort of rushed through this on a high of sad feelings over AVPSY. Hopefully it wasn't the worst thing ever, but, you know. Yeah. Thank you for reading, anyways! <3 -- C


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